Dark Star Rising
by john.t.collins.7
Summary: A Brave but disquieted young man finds his Universe an odd predicament, with the Falling sky and Faded Dawn. Bereft of love his kingdom veers headlong into the shifting sands of the Once and Future King whose ambitions of covetous hope reveal a threat more subtle than the dark side itself-its very genesis- in the Light of a Purple Star blazing through time toward a future unknown.


Dark Star Rising

by

Tim Collins

I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin of events than the will I call mine.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson _The Over-soul_

Chapter One

The night had come. Out into the darkness they flowed, the two, immersed in the faint starlight from the millions of proud but modest little points that embraced the blackness, shimmering translucently in the thick soupy air of the summer night. Vesper shades were growing older with each step the couple took, bare footprints leaving mellow impressions in soft but warm grass now in their wake, and the dim but energetic flicker of the small town behind them, with its candle lit windows and thatched plaster roofs, diminished in the distance until it became little more than memory. The young man, twenty one in age but ten at heart, smiled reluctantly as the pair's beloved tree came into view, where the lake met the meadow, and where the meadow met the trees, while the young woman only stared out beyond it, peering into the sharp cloudless black. It was a prized place, a place they had cherished since first they had discovered each other and become one. Gnarled and savage, the oak reared up against the cool night sky, its sleepy leaves swaying ever so slightly in the reassuring wind that rolled across the dark of the heavens, chasing the stars with the full pale moon as her chariot, boldly nestled in the sky. With the meadow, the town, and any semblance of the life they lived by day now behind them, the two ambled on in comfortable silence, the type of silence shared only by those fortunate few who knew their lover's thoughts and did not, or rather dared not, disrupt the truth of the quiet.

They had reached the tree and they were content.

Running their hands over the jagged bark raw to the eye as well as the touch, they reminded themselves of this serene place and what it had meant to them. Over the years they had become themselves in this place, first as children then as adults, growing with each other and without the world, but so much that is now, they learned, depends on the day ahead. Out onto the open waters of the lake they gazed as it flickered by with an eerie iridescence as the waters, black but blinding in the reflection of the moon and her sister stars, danced, pleasing the eye. And so the two sat down, in the crook of their great tree and resting in each others arms, pontificating and pondering the mysteries of this, their small world. The slight young man spoke casually, trying to muster up enough consciousness to keep the couple awake in the dead of this night.

"So what do you make of the rumors of the coming war? What would you do if I were actually conscripted like William, and all the others? The call to arms is a dangerous thing and we were lucky that I was able to avoid the royal summons for this long. I'm just worried that we might not share in each other any longer, and the mere thought burdens my every word and deed."

The woman, her golden brown hair that was perfectly straight but for a few thin braids, turned her gaze away from the deep lake and then to the man's yet deeper brown eyes, smiled, and spoke.

"I wouldn't worry about such trivialities Silas, what will be will be, and you are here with me now, are you not? Do not weary yourself with thoughts or worries of a war that has yet to begin, but be glad in what you have. Me."

And with that she took his hand in hers and then reached into the sky beneath the oak, pointing at the stars, trying ever more desperately to grab fistfuls of the stuff that this milky universe was made of and draw it in to their breasts. And after the moment had faded, like so much else that does, Silas voiced his concerns once more, not content to just let things pass as they were.

"But still Mary, what if Engar does go to war, which is now almost certain, can we really afford to fight Dorshen, but more importantly, what of us? The king will not hesitate to call into his service every man who can bear arms, or at the very least throw rocks. If he could I am sure he would conscript women and children alike. It is well known that the man has no heart."

Mary replied, with a distant but honest response, as sleepiness began to tax her mind.

"These are questions that I cannot answer, I know nothing of the art of war nor why men wage it. As I see things to be, only the arrogant start wars and only fools fight them, and the king has no lack of pride and his kingdom no lack of fools. As for you and I, what will be will be. If you are called to fight then you must decide, fight or flee. If you ask it of me I will leave the past behind and sail out into the unknown world with you my wind, without second thought. That is love."

Silas' face transformed to baffled amusement as he shouted to the stars sprinkled across the sky.

"What do I know of love?"

And with that the two lay their heads against each other and drifted off to sleep in the beauty of seclusion, as hesitant to slumber as the great oak above them, the green grass beneath, and the wide world before them. Their eyes closed and their thoughts, concerns, worries and wants, were no more.

For some hours they slept with nothing but a gentle zephyr as their blanket, as all was silent, and all was still. The town's candle lit windows had now all but gone out, one by one, winking in sedition as each flame disappeared until there was only light left.

And then there were none.

The thatched and plastered middle-aged houses, the blacksmiths forge, the carpenter's shop, all gathered round each other in a pool of humanity called a town, called Gossam, of little more than two thousand inhabitants, and now it waited for day. Summer was a curious time for all who lived there, night even more so. By day the farmers tended to their fields and the shepherds to their flocks, and by night the drunks and the oafs roamed about and rambled, but through it all, life was familiar to the folk there who lived. However the threat of war now changed that. With Gossam being as close to the border of Dorshen as it was it, and being that it was a port town, it did not take much imagination for the inhabitants of this small place to realize it would quickly and easily become a target to her enemies, which lay to the east. But such thoughts did not weigh on the minds of the slumbering lovers, whose bodies lay limp but strong, alive, but unaware.

And then it struck.

It streaked across the sky in a numinous blaze of glory, harbinger to the chaos that would soon follow it, striking out deep into the heart of the lake and punching through the waters surface, blasting jets of the lake's liquid substance out into the air. The explosive noise that soon followed wrenched the couple from their sleep and into a world transfigured. They looked up in awe through weary eyes at a sight both beautiful and terrible as a meteor shower rained down on the lake in rapid fiery succession, with each burning flash striking closer and closer to the tree than the last one. Silas jumped to his feet with Mary soon behind him and glared at the heavens in belittled anger, wondering what this hail of fire could mean. Shouting above the explosions, Mary was not timid in voicing her dazed fears.

"What is happening?" she shouted," Why is fire raining from the sky? Are the stars falling?"

Silas, still disoriented from his brief sleep, assumed the only thing he might have assumed in such a situation, with fear now alight in his features and driving his mind now to survive.

"The world is ending!" he declared, "Quick! We must return to Gossam and warn the others!"

She replied, "But if the world is ending, than what then is the use?"

As explosions of water rocked the tree he said, "So that the people may spend their time remaining with those they love, as we spent our last night on this earth with each other. Now come with me! Rouse the people; they deserve to know their end!"

With a tear brimming in her eye, and her chest heaving, Mary turned toward the meadow and ran after Silas in the darkness, her bare feet padding across the clean, pure grass until she fell far enough behind that she deemed it a wasted effort to keep running after him. Walking and sobbing she found her way back to the towns perimeter, flashes of light dazzling the sky, and amidst her fear, as her soft hands shrouded her sinking face, she watched torch light spring to life in the distance, illuminating the faces of the townspeople, the faces of horror. With composure to be gained, Mary wiped a faint hand against her stained cheek and drew away the tears, preferring to be bold in the face of the end that she knew surely awaited her. Gathering the smock of her dress up and whipping her hair behind her face once more she darted off toward the town, listening to and following a weak voice that she had heard on the wind.

Silas.

She could hear him now crying out to the people with a fervor, telling them to arise, awaken, for the end of the world was nigh. And they listened. Men, women and children, by the hundreds now stampeded from homes to see what the matter could be. 'Had the war begun?' some might ask, but no, others reassured them, it is nothing as terrible as that, merely the world's ending. Mary was now fully in the thick of things, people ran about screaming and cursing, while others dropped to their knees in prayer and long overdo supplication. Others, however, turned their eyes to the storm of fire that had been raging over the lake for some time now, as if to validate their own fears that everything was not alright. And how right they were. Looting and rioting soon broke out as the townspeople, some wielding swords and others shovels or pitchforks, clad in the filth of their own panic and greed, stormed neighbor's houses and still yet burned others to the ground, showing no pity, only animalistic recourse.

Dozens of plastered houses now glowed bright in the clear night sky with orange flame licking the darkness and screams of bewildered insanity claiming the ears of all those with ears to have listened. But still Mary followed that voice.

"The world is ending!" it said, "Find your loved ones and share with them your last night on this earth! The world is ending!"

It slowly faded in the distance and Mary soon lost it amidst the terror that ruled, that had drowned the once docile townsfolk. Making her way through the shifting crowd of screaming, destroying, pillaging people, she found her path through the maze of streets in the fire lit darkness to her own home, buried discreetly between other plastered homes of similar make that spoke a small truth about those who lived in them, that how, not where, one lived was most important. She moved deliberately up to the wooden door in the darkness to find it open and no one afoot, almost as if her family had slipped away into nothingness, or away into the abyss that was the riot, that rampage of unfettered hedonism. Knowing that her family was out amongst the crowd, seizing the anonymity of action that any riot affords, she walked through and around the house and up the stairs in solemn dignity, feeling her way about and groping, for what she could not say, though she found some security in the familiarity of her home. Madness echoed through the halls of the small house as the riot bore down on it, consuming, destroying, or disfiguring all in its path, closing in on Mary's sanity and beckoning her to join them. But she would hear none of it. In the middle of all this chaos she would look still for her family, if not then for Silas. If this truly were her last night on this good earth than she would do well to spend it accordingly, and in her breast she felt the swell of fear and tears rising as she realized that she might never again find her kin, find her loved ones in this frenzied mess that had dismantled the entire town.

The smell floated up the stairs and found its way into her nose, tempting her senses. At first it was that homely smell that reminded her of New Year and of family, and cold winter nights, and then she recognized it for what it was, for what it had to be; fire. Viscous black clouds sauntered up the stairs as Mary stumbled down them to escape the stifling suffocating evil aroma that had found a path somehow into her tired body and taxed her limbs in darkness. But the darkness did not last as hot thick flames hungry for the taste of her flesh consumed the first floor of her house, which had been thrown into disarray by looters. Chairs were overturned and a table, cut and carved with her father's own two hands, laid cloven in two, with its pale shadow cast against the wall by the swaying yellow flame. She was trapped, with no place left to run she stared deep into the heart of this fire, grime and smog wrapping their tendrils about her mind, her body, and her very soul, beckoning her to sleep, and sleep soundly. A spinning world faded to nothingness and her body struck the floor, tumbling under its own weight, unable to breathe through the smoke in its lungs, unable to think through the fog in its mind.

Yet still the flames raged.

Chapter two

Amber sunlight of the deepest hue filtered through the vines and terraces of the courtyard and spilled out and over, like a pitcher filled more than it can bear, into the mossy stone beneath the crowned man's feet. Wrapped in the finest garments of vibrant blue and silky red the man, rippling with muscle and brimming with an aura of power that flooded his presence, paced back and forth through the square. Birds chirped and flowers blossomed in this the middle of summer, their melodious symphony of scents and sounds added nothing but irritation to the man's thoughts. His crown perched atop his head like some extension of himself with its cruel blue gem set as the centerpiece peering down on those things around him, as if to declare him their cold new master. Being the large man that he was his lithe movements betrayed his daring finesse, but on his features one could see in him an overbearing hopeless sadness, the sadness of desire.

His father before him had been a great warrior, a king among men, he had led Engar to countless victories on the field of battle, had sculpted this great nation into a power among powers and had died a hero's death. The battle grounds were his tomb and his surviving son his only tombstone. And it weighed on the man.

And so now he paced back and forth, to and fro, this young king, forced to take the throne at seventeen when his father had fallen. But that was some years ago, he was twenty five now, a new man he told himself, a man cast from the same metal of his father, and his father before him. He would not bend, he would not be broken, he would not be tempered; he would be raw. This beautiful courtyard, its residue thick in his senses, only fueled his desires and drove his limitless ambition. Yet above it all he wanted not power, prestige, wealth or any of the perks that came with it, for those he already had. He wanted happiness; true, pure, and uncorrupted. But is it not man's nature to want what he cannot have? To feel what he cannot see? Am I not man?

The question stroked his mind, coercing his thoughts and tying him inextricably to that in him that was not man, but to beast, never to man. And the war. It too clawed at his mind demanding more thought than he had recompense, the innumerable nobles of his royal court all bickering over the semantics of the conflict to come, some condemning it a shameless war of expansion, and others, sycophantic others, heralding war to be the prerogative of his royal majesty, and declaring that strength not used is strength not had. But King Roger III cared not for the moral support of his patrician noblemen, not when he had already their military support, not when he had already their allegiance, their servitude, no matter how ungracious or undeserved. They bowed only to him. And perhaps that was what hurt him most.

He turned dismissively away from thoughts, his face weary with the credence of his concerns, drooping ever so slightly toward the inviting stone patio floor. In all his kingly regalia he slipped across the enclosed and pristine courtyard, birds chirping merrily and a little squirrel, preoccupied with the bliss of his acorn, gnawing at it and tumbling it over and over in his deft little hands, while the king sat dejectedly on an age stained stone bench, looking onto the creature in belligerent amazement. Through a stroke of overdue precociousness, whether real or forced, the king took the little creature into the forefront of his mind's eye and resolved to study it, to understand it. What made this puny thing so pleased? Why was he so foreign from it? Why could he not see as the animal saw? Not a world of bitterness strife and contention, but a world made of simple pleasures, of wants and desires, of a love for life, and of happiness. Hunger burns.

"Sire!" the voice beckoned, "Your royal court is convening and your presence is requested, and you know of course that it is with the utmost deference that I interrupt your sacred thoughts at so untimely an hour."

"Of course I know Philip," an embittered king replied, "and nor do I care for your platitudes or that of-_the royal court's_-. I know my duties, and as my herald you should learn yours, to dictate my words to my subjects, not to dictate my subject's to me. Be gone. I will arrive in my own good time."

The king's steely glance was enough to silence any thought the man had of responding and to send the clean cut, sinewy herald, scampering as the rodent he was. Let him tell the court that.

And the squirrel was gone.

Just as it had appeared it had disappeared, melting away, like water riding the oceans shores, into the deep, into the foliage and vines that defined this small place, and with it the king's attempts to comprehend that which he might not become. So with the sun singeing his light skin through pompous but not porous attire, he rose from the bench, angular jaw now set in stone, as was his resolve, as he marched solemnly out of his thinking grounds and toward the court, decisively placing one foot firmly in front of the other.

Meanwhile, on the inside of the court, the noise rose in a cantankerous crescendo of flared men and tempers. A deeply accented voice shouted out that the war _was_ in the best interests of Engar, another nasal voice fired back with the retort that the uneasy peace between Dorshen and Engar was far more profitable than an ungovernable super state or worse an impossible conflict, and through it all yells and shouts, threats and promises, flew around the echoing halls from lips to ears and from minds to hearts. It was a dimly lit hall, with sunlight creeping around the cracks of the red stained doors and wood covered windows, like some small child seething and sauntering just out of the sight of a parent, knowing its presence could only mean more harm than good. And the men in this grand hall, its atrium yawning wide above their heads supported by broad ornate colonnades, squabbled and spat, cursed at the sky, god, and the men before them. They sat around three rectangular tables, two long ones and a shorter one, forming the makings of its own rectangle but for the one missing side. No conclusion could be reached with things in their present state of degenerate idiocy, where fools played the wise, and the wise were nowhere to be found, so the Praetor of Engar, a man for all seasons, spoke. And in walked the king. Tucking himself away in a corner out of sight behind a massive marble column, to listen to the uncensored thoughts of his most trusted advisor, of his father's most trusted advisor, and those of the sly feudal lords and barons, to whom he owed his armies, he set his lips into a tight curl.

"Peace!" reassured the Praetor, his arms raised and the other voices died down, "Peace is what we desire, and peace is what we shall have. Through war."

Madness erupted in the court and again the Praetor raised his arms and the noise petered out to silence and he spoke.

"Though war be folly it is the right and duty of his majesty to decide the fate of this kingdom, to steer its course through destiny and into history, to forge an empire by way of the bitter fires of battle. Empires were never won through peace, but through bloodshed. Take pride in Engar men! Do not fight yourselves! Fight the enemy, fight the foe. Our war is a war of preemption, and fortune favors the bold, never the bashful, we must strike while the iron is hot! Not when the flames of fate have dimmed on our horizons, or when war becomes our last recourse, but now, now while we as yet have strength in our very bones, while we have the advantage."

"Well spoken Praetor, " the king recounted, as he emerged from the shadows wreathed in the pity of his own arrogance, arms folded across his chest, and bathing in the shock and hushed whisperings that had swept through out the hall.

"Your faith in my leadership shall not go unrewarded, my most trusted advisor."

The Praetor smiled emphatically and bowed deep to the king, his full beard shrouding the scowl behind it. The hundred or so noble men, and even the court jester who had been juggling intently in the background, fixed their eyes intently on the king, his beatifying presence commanding their attention. Though the king was ruthless and arrogant, he was not too steeped in himself to recognize the value of some good advice or even the threat of ignoring some bad advice. Compromise, he grudgingly admitted, was the only way to coexist, and his power was derived solely from the fact that others condoned it, if the court should one day become unified, and he had done well to keep it otherwise, their comity might well spell his end. He spoke again.

"When I called for this court to convene I invited you under the summons to discuss the prospect of war, and perhaps I was mistaken in my courtesies, or something of my message was lost in the pleasantries. You are all aware that this war will be waged, with or without your consent, and that a lack of military aid from any or many of your fiefdoms will be seen as nothing short of treason, and dealt with as such. But surely you must also be aware that I am, in fact and contrary to public opinion, a man of reason. I am sympathetic to your wants, needs, and causes. I understand the strain that a war will put on us all, how each of us will suffer, but the potential rewards of our wartime efforts are no paltry sum. They are far too great to be ignored or dismissed in favor of peace, in favor of stagnation. And now I open the court to your opinions. Speak your piece and your piece will be heard, but silence your tongue and you have lost your word; only you will lose in the end."

The court had been through this routine often enough, and they knew it to be true. They were well aware that if they held back then only they lost the opportunity and that the king did take advice, but only advice that did not conflict with his decisions, although he did not usually criticize advice which did. It was a rare thing for the king to change his motives or intent per the pressure of the court, and the only man who had achieved any measure of success in doing so was the Praetor himself. When he had taken the throne at the naïve age of seventeen, with at least one attempt made on his life and throne each year since, only the Praetor had been there to protect him. The Praetor had educated him in the matters of the kingdom and had taken part in every major decision or conflict of the court, and among it his influence was known. Whether through the power of persuasion or even simple reason, the man had always seemed to have Engar's best interests at heart, and truly always had his way with things. Except with the king. As the king had grown so too had his proclivity to make his own decisions, however bold or brash, and of late the king had come to largely ignore the man's words, whether wise or sterling.

A baron spoke, his green silk shirt subtly catching the eyes of those about the court.

"Majesty, lords and barons, I recognize now that this is not a debate as to whether or not we will go to war, which I oppose, but rather it is a council of war, of how we intend to deal with the threat Dorshen, and the fate of Engar itself. What I propose is not that we avoid war completely, though it be wise, but rather that we wait. Wait, my friends. Wait and build. At present Engar is strong, but stronger still could she be! If we attack Dorshen now, though they operate with some odd and slow form of government, democracy, I think they call it, and will be sluggish to respond to our attacks for want of their councils and parliaments, they will still at best make this war a war of attrition."

The chubby baron, his fingers wrapped in gem studded rings, paused and cleared his throat, rising from his seat with his eyes attenuating and beads of sweat building as his voice rose intensely, piercing the ears of the nobleman, as if to drive his points home.

"And is a war of attrition a war that we can fight? Men of the court, you know assuredly that I would never, never speak ill of Engar. Maybe of its decisions or god forbid those of the king, but never, men, never of Engar."

Murmurs of agreement circulated around the expansive halls, as jabbering heads leaned toward other heads and consulted or cajoled one another. The fat baron, with the court now at his feet, continued his soliloquy.

"What I propose, to you especially my king," and he paused forcefully, "is that Engar build up her armies for two more harvests still! If we but wait we can win this war in one mighty hammer stroke, just as the smithy flattens his iron before it is set to the flame, so may we strike Dorshen!"

The baron tried to persist but was drown out by a torrent of shouts and waving fists as the court, as if by some premeditated plan, rose simultaneously and tried desperately to bellow or stare down the next man in an attempt to make themselves heard.

And then a voice clear and sharp, regal but reserved, and wielded by a man of clout, struck the insanity of the court down.

"Charles you are a bum!"

Laughter burst from the mouths of all who had but a moment ago been consumed by emotion, their faces folding into a smile, as they looked to and laughed at the fat baron, whose face had soured, and then to see whom had said it. It had been the king. No one had quite been prepared for a statement of such force or character, and least of all coming from the king, and as the laughter and tension gradually faded the king took to the stage.

"For two years already we have built our armies, and two years hence, should we strengthen our legions, you would but say the same thing again, and for what? To weaken our resolve. It is understood and accepted that you oppose this war, and that you think me an idiot and-"

"But sire I think nothing of the sort!"

"On your life do not interrupt me again. As I had been saying, you think me an idiot. I am not. But you are entitled to your own treacherous thoughts while I have only the interest of Engar in mind. Would you not agree that my father, and I readily concede the title, was the best king to have ever governed these lands?"

The king stopped and looked around the room into the eyes of each and every individual, as if waiting for any among them to challenge or refute what he had proposed.

And they didn't.

Not for fear, but because each of them knew it to be true, and while nodding their heads in agreement the king continued.

"Did my father not die in battle? For Engar? What I do, I do not deny it, but I prepare for war only because my father would want it of me, because it is best."

Catching the court off step, in the king's emphatic silence, a resonating voice rode the air.

"But your father fought because Engar was first attacked not because he wanted to be remembered. How, then, is this what your father wanted?"

All heads turned, their eyes wide and mouths aghast, peering into the face of the man who had been bold enough to say something so patently suicidal, who stared back with the confidence afforded only to the very shrewd or the very imprudent. It had been Hector; it had to have been Hector.

The king's face lightened, if not for an instant, before wilting and then distorting into an anger uncommon to, but not unheard of in, the royal court. Eyes narrowing and lips tightening the king exploded onto Hector, rushing across the breadth of the hall before jumping over the oak table and pummeling the man. Hector was of a smaller breed than the king and did little to protect himself for fear of being charged with treason, so he tumbled backwards from his chair absorbing each punch, though maybe undeserved, with his stomach and face. All the while the king shouted curses and threats at the man, his best general, before finally slowing the blows, and then stopping altogether, sitting atop Hector and huffing, trying to regain his breath and catch his composure.

Everyone stared.

Lifting himself off of the battered general the king wiped his sweat soaked brow with a sleeve, his face vibrant and suspicious, and he stepped over the table toward the center of the room. Hector grunted and drew himself off of the ground and again into his seat watching the king with a glower, primping his bruised face, and remaining silent. Hector, hardly a man of the people, was nonetheless an excellent tactician and more importantly a leader. His ability to coax men from fear and caution to heroism and valor, though it might not be to their immediate advantage, was unparalleled, as was his wry cynicism. And today he had paid dearly for it. Though he might never forgive the king for what he had just done he was, in spite of everything, loyal to him, and to Engar, preferring instead to remember a promise he had made to the man's father as he fought and died; to protect his son. Having stood by his word he would not let any triviality of his, or the current king's pride, steal that away from him, even though he was nearly twice his majesty's age.

At the center of the court the king stood poised, the anger now faded from his being and replaced with a deep and unsettling sadness that was all to evident in his eyes and on his face, and even now, having seen what he had done, most took pity on him, Hector included. The Praetor looked away in shame.

The king's earnest words rattled around the hall as a sudden weariness seemed to catch sight of and overtake him.

"Members of the royal court, I apologize, though my anger was not unjustified. Never again is anyone to mention my father in my presence under pain of imprisonment. And with that in mind I would like to afford us all a recess until tonight's feast, where I expect that we will all-_Hector_-bring civil tongues to discuss matters of the kingdom."

Without waiting for a response the king turned heel and left, his intensity drained, and headed toward the wooden door of the shadowy hall that reverberated with the whispers of the nobles, who gradually began to filter from their seats. The king, however, was beyond caring. Walking slowly, with his face almost buried in his own chest and with the weight of his embarrassment hovering over his head, he tried to tell himself that this could only pass. He was doing what his father would have done, he believed, and what he most needed now was to escape the confines of this hall and take in the open air, to find somewhere that this black cloud of despair could not follow. With each moment his heart pounded in his chest, his head became light and a dim claustrophobia closed in, driving him to the door which he willingly pressed open, near falling into the sunlight. The king made his way across the palace's royal grounds in the reassuring, though lethargic, warmth of the afternoon to find a place to clear his mind and organize his thoughts.

The pond.

That would be the perfect place for him to think and stew, to look for and maybe even find that gratitude of heart that had so thoroughly eluded him, in this the hour of war. He walked resolutely down the path pressing all thoughts of melancholy to the edge of his mind in a futile attempt to gain clarity, a clarity that he would have sold all for. Winding his way around the cobble stone path, lost in the rigors of his own deliberation, he at last arrived to the pond, a place tucked away into the pristine folds of the royal estate, shrouded in emerald shrubbery and overlooking the Engar's capital city of Verlan. From the hill on which he rested, now sitting by the rippling waters skipping pebbles, the imperial city danced beneath his gaze, and all the while he sat there he could not help but think that god must have known him for someone who knew paltry love.

Chapter three

The haze of the dawn was more than he could bear. Bitter black smoke, the smoke of dying fire, the smoke of a town's anguish, spiraled skyward, like some lost animal with no place or purpose. Silas sat in the midst of it all, his head near in his knees and his eyes brimming with solemn sickness of joy, he wanted to cry, he tried to cry; crying was right. But the tears would not come, no matter what he promised them, they alone should have comforted him at this time, they alone, but they were lost to him, foreign and cold.

And he was frozen. It was a misplaced happiness of sorts, a happiness that he wanted to let go in favor of true sadness, sadness that he deserved and that was born wholly of his grievous error. The world still turned, and the town still burned, but the ashes, they drifted away on the breeze and with it the memory of Mary, his love, and feeling that his own stupidity, his foolish folly, had killed her, was a burden he deserved to bear but was cruelly denied. Sitting there surveying the silence, the gray fog and the black smoke rolling from the collapsed houses and ruined lives, he could not help but wonder, why?

Because. And that was his only answer. An answer as old as the question and equally as meaningful, if not as meaningless. He smiled, with the scent of Mary still moist in his mind, her eyes and face still crisp in his vision; but the tears they would not come. He was perpetually gay, torn by trauma, while trying disparately to sew himself back together, though to and through no avail, wanting for something he could neither perceive nor pursue, even if he did try. The sun broke the fog and the smoke falling cold on his face, demanding that he look up and address its presence; so he did. His head lifted but a little bit and his festive brown eyes panned around the broken town of Gossam. Desolation and madness had enveloped the town in the quiet of the night before, when he had raced from the great oak to warn the people of their coming demise, and in that time, while he had been separated from Mary, she had been trapped in the confines of her flaming home.

He remembered it clearly, the moment when, in the heart of all the rampaging, the shouting and the angry faces, the churning fists and fiery eyes, that the concern of Mary crossed his mind. The clear dark of the night had weighed upon his soul and called his eyes from the star and meteor filled sky, and his voice from its frantic proclamation, to a desperate need for the sight of her. He paused. Watching the decadence unfold before his wide eyes, the torches majestically and rhythmically rolling back and forth against the glittering facets of each man and woman's face, the trampling feet and pervasive trumpeting of children, each looking for a father or a mother. Silas seized up and crumbled, striking the turf with the full weight of his body, his ultimate warnings bearing undue truth.

He awoke and he was at peace. The same insanity that had ground the town into its most basic human elements of greed and fear, of love and loathing, of anonymity and a resolve become their unfettered selves, still wound the gears of the clock that was Gossam, that now ticked and now tocked. Little had changed as roving hordes of panicked people drove from here to there, every now and again collapsing under the burden of what ever load they happened to be bearing, or even striking out viciously at some bystander to there crimes. Yet he was at peace. He knew that everything would be alright, that he would find Mary, that they would rise above the madness, would bring order to the order less and sanity to the insane, would still have each other. And by the sick twists of irony he knew that knowing was not enough; he knew that he must find her, feel her.

'I couldn't have been unconscious that long', he reasoned, and with that in his thoughts he began at first to walk in the general direction of her home, wading and picking through the people that seemed full bent on their own sense of mayhem and of momentary purpose, and then he began to run. His shallow gait soon lengthened into its full stride as his lean arms swung back and forth at his sides, a smile brushing his lips, a memory driving his attentions.

Dust clouds puffed up in his wake, curling and dispersing, falling to the ground under the oppression of gravity and the threat of their own weight. A little boy, embracing his hand knit quilt, sensing the urgency of the man he saw rushing through the crowd, remembering his look from spring in the meadow, from winter in the snow, from fall in the leaves and a lifetime of brotherhood, called his name.

"Silas!" was the boy's joyful countenance.

And Silas, though his intentions on Mary, his whole world riding on his shoulders, stopped his feral dash down the unpaved avenue and addressed the child.

"Francis! What are you doing out here? Where are father and mother? Why are you not with them?"

The child, as if almost pleased with his parents, reported with gleaming eyes owed only to his adolescent age of ten short yet long years.

"They joined the crowd Silas, they went off and they said the world was ending and that I should stay close by their side. I tried Silas, I did, but I couldn't keep up with them, I lost sight of them when I stopped to see the stars that were falling from the sky into the lake and the field. Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Is the world really ending?"

"Of course! Look at the sky Francis! The heavens are dying, so also then is the earth, come with me, when I find Mary then we'll find father and mother."

"All you ever care about is Mary, we should find father and mother first, shouldn't we?"

"No. Let's go."

And with that Silas seized Francis by the hand in one quick motion, dragging the boy wearing his oversized linen nightgown that stretched well below his knees, that every so often caused him to trip and stumble, and pulled his wriggling body onward toward Mary, toward completion. Their bodies moved almost at random through the thinning crowd's swaggering and uncanny frenzy drawing ever closer to Mary's home, Francis' eyes roving over the seen and marveling at the sheer scope of man's contempt for itself, though he might not have known it at the time, and Silas, determined but at peace, pressed onward. By now liquor had taken its hold on members of the mob as they all shared in the guilty pleasure of the riot and the false secret of the bottle, now slowing in their rage, but growing in their stupor. And as the anesthesia of the drink intoxicated their minds, spilling over into their actions, Francis laughed pointing and Silas pressed onward, thinking only of where she might be and what harm might she have escaped.

It splattered onto his leather shoe with disheartening warmth and a familiar crimson hue, though dim as if to appear silvery black in only the cascade of moon and meteor light, now that they had moved further away from a mass of burning homes, although toward another. Lingering to exam it, and validate that was what he knew only it could be, he arrested his forward progress, letting go of Francis and stooping to exam the puddle at his feet. Sticky to the touch and saturating his nose with an almost sweet salty scent he ran a finger through it and brought it to his eyes, its glassy glow showing in the shards of light that penetrated his mind. All blood must come from a source.

"Francis, quick, look at this, where did it come from?"

But Francis had moved his slick body away from him and followed the trail of congealed red goo, a drip here a drop there, until his keen gaze felt the body that lay leaning back against the brick wall of a home, off to the side of the street.

"Silas! Come here, now! He's here I found him!"

"What has happened to him? Why is there blood? Of course the riots occurred, but how could this come to be?" Silas said with a distracted altruism, as he rose from the polished black pool and double stepped toward the body and the boy.

And the body spoke.

In a dismembered grunt that issued from its syrupy tongue, heavy from pain and blood loss it said,

"A fight….wanted it..mine, he took…mine."

With the burgundy stained blade of a scythe laying not to far off it was not difficult for them to surmise the cause of the man's grim wound, red blood bleeding soberly from his abdomen. Its mouth moved once more, half forming words with its lips.

"Help me…please." It huffed, "To the healer…me…take me."

Silas, though he might have been irritated, looked at the man's fragile form and obliged, stooping and scooping the body into the crook of his arms, not aware that he should act to slow the bleeding. With Francis dancing in blissful ignorance of the fading man's true weight while following Silas and scrutinizing over the man, his mortal wound, and what could have possibly driven another to stab him, Silas' thoughts again returned to Mary. But the dying lump of flesh in his arms could not simply be disregarded, could not be dropped or set aside, who was he to deny a man a chance at life, however short lived? For love? What if this were merely the beginning of the end? Of these which is more precious, which is more true, life or love? They were things only he could answer for himself, but knowing that he would be again with Mary was enough to console him, to tell him to continue as he had chosen to do. Hefting the body along with a newly fomented stamina he made through the winding streets of shadow and flame toward the healer who, of all the persons in the town, would be least likely to have joined the blundering crowd in their basest behavior.

The trek was one not made easy, riddled with the occasional drunk or untamed fire, or perhaps even the concern that the healer might not be found, and they made their way passing by the sights and the sounds, the drunken smiles and the disparaging frowns, until at some length they were interrupted by a broken woman. Her crooked teeth paled in comparison to her burnt flesh as she turned in the weak light, a dull ache in her bones and a dim thought in her mind as cognition was replaced by shock, a shock driven by pain unseen. But sweet recognition. It could only be him, it must be him, that man, his face so intent, but benign, carrying, what is it, a corpse? Yes, it is him. And that was enough to sate her, to awake her, to force a glint into her eye. Hands rising, one to point, the other to beckon, wrapped only in singed clothes, acrid hair and scorched tissue, she yelled out.

"You! Its you!" her voice croaking with the taste of her torture now in everyone's mouth.

Far from stopping Silas merely sped up, determined now more than ever to save him, to find her, to complete his peace.

She would not let him go, would not let him escape as he was, unscathed, to disappear so silently as he had come, and the others, at her summons, burns on their once smooth skin, once whole, now wilted, now devoid of their voice, the voice that gave them form, moved toward him. Breathe still in the once impaled man, sagging in Silas' arms, exhaled and inhaled, deep, then shallow, full, then empty, and in his arms the man's weight seemed to increase tenfold, a burden that he could only bear. With the distance between the victims of Silas inanity and himself now drawing to a close he slowed his steps, Francis' face now one of hopeful caution, surely Silas will know what to do, he reasoned. And he set the still breathing body on the ground in the dust, turned to Francis and gave him a look, a look misinterpreted, as Francis began to gallop away, but having realized that Silas had hung back, to face the shouts of his still unbeknownst mistake, he moved behind the corner of a building in the darkness, first glancing at the fire filled sky, then tentatively at his older brother.

"Please, hear me! This man is dying and I must take him to the healer, you may blame me for what has happened if you must, but do you not see the sky? Is it not alight with the flames of death?"

Their voices were filled with hate, but also with suffering, as the woman who first he sought to avoid, her wretched form a symbol of defiled sanctity, howled and spat, oblivious to reason. She spoke with venomous vehemence.

"It was you, you who did this, I know it was you and I remember your face and I remember your voice to, admit it! My face is burnt, I'll kill you! Look what you did you idiot! Fool! Say it was you. I know, I saw."

And for reasons he could not comprehend, reasons above him and beyond him, Silas mind merely wiped itself clean, his eyes losing some of their light, and on his face was written an emptily elated smile.

His weak whispering voice, in almost drone falsetto, responded,

"It was me."

But catching himself he continued in vigor, now again aware of the dozen or so before him, aware of their pain, aware of his peace.

"Beneath the great oak tree, Mary and I, we were gazing at the stars, wondering at the mysteries of the kingdom and the world-"

The crowd advanced closer.

"-looking for the stars when they began to fall from the sky raining into the lake. Understand; this is the beginning of the end, if not the end."

And as the crowd advanced closer still he pressured them to follow his agenda, still firmly planted in mind.

"I see your burns! We are going to the healer, follow me if you want to live."

Francis peeked out from the side of the house, still draped in his linen gown, peering into the crowd confronting Silas, while his heart's beat echoed against his chest.

On instinct or folly, the boy's brow etched in stone furrowed as he raced from behind the house and down the center of the silvery street into the meat of the maddening mob. Waving his hands and shouting, his bravery misplaced, he addressed the people there with an unabated animation.

"Stop, my brother's right, the world is ending. Look around you. And you do need help, for your burns, and who but the healer can give it to you? If you don't get his help, and Silas', then you'll only die sooner. Come with us, don't your wounds still burn? Would not salve sweeten the short time you have left?"

The distorted croaking of a once singular voice crackled in worried ears,

"If we kill you now we can find the healer on our own, what's to stop us from that? And if the world is ending, what in the world does it matter?"

Privy to his plight, Silas lied.

"Only I know where the healer is. When I called out the warning I ran into him and I asked him where he intended to go, and what he intended to do. He told me. And as for why it matters, life, however short or long, was not meant to be lived in suffering. I, this man curled bloodied and dying at your feet, and my brother, are all at your mercy. The choice is yours."

The charred woman, a self asserted ringleader, seemed ready to strike, but then after a moments careful consideration, however dulled by the fierceness of her pain, let the anger fade from her face, looked skyward, and passed her judgments, speaking to the small crowd.

"Let's follow him. I think that there's merit to what he says, we have all seen death this night, what good could more bring? And if he doesn't take us to the healer, then his life is our life."

The faces in the crowd, not but a moment past swimming with the vapors of unrestricted wrath, had faded and diminished to a more manageable simmering of belated hope, of acceptance of things past.

"So be it!" a gruff voice proclaimed.

With that they were off. Following Silas who had gathered the blood soaked man into his tired arms, and Francis who seemed content with things as they were, they made their way down the broad avenue marching with energetic sobriety toward a glowing orange mass that lay in the distance, a mass of flames. With no time to spare the ragamuffin band of burn victims, struggling against the anguish, arrived at the town square, a large open area with a large wooden mast and peddlers carts strewn about, some upright, but most overturned, and embers still smoldering here and there. Silas, unsure of the potential outcome, in regards to his unsavory but wholly necessary lie, spied out in a dim light the healer's home, a small two story building with a painted black wooden door. A candle was lit inside. Good, thought Silas, maybe there is hope, maybe now I can find Mary. With his herd now behind him whooping and guffawing as he announced that they were here, that the healer would deal with them as he had promised, he turned to his younger brother, gesturing with difficulty for him to rap the iron knocker and summon the healer or seal their fate.

The rabble watched and waited as Francis rushed headlong toward the door raising the knocker and striking it shamelessly against the solid door, its deafening boom resounding about the square.

Silence. Golden silence. Silence to be paid for in blood.

And then the door swung on its rusted hinges open and out and where once stood wood that spelled death for Silas now stood a man, no taller than five and one half feet. The sprite yellow flame of the candle cast a grave silhouette of the person before them, his gray beard dipping well into his chest and his weathered face crestfallen, as if prepared for the absolute worst, a fear he could not hide.

"Well?" he asked, "What do you want? If you are here for the silvers take what you must. This foolishness will soon come to an end and we should all be the better for it."

Then seeing the man in Silas' arms, a man at the very limits of what life his body had allowed itself to sustain, his deep gray eyes, unfathomable in their concern, outstretched his arms and took the burden from him, drawing him into the house and setting him down on a straw cot covered in wool cloth. The others, more alive now than ever, poured into the humble dwelling as a torrent unforgiving and found their place in line, seeking consolation for their ailments. In accordance with Silas' intentions, he and his sibling seized the opportunity to escape the once murderous now mollified convention of seared peasants, and turned tail toward her house, toward Mary. Francis dashing now, at his bodies end and his wits lowly beginning, more curious about Silas and the meaning of his love than ever, struggled relentlessly to keep the faith in his brother's rude actions as he drifted further and further into the gray, and then the black. The streets turned in a whirling wind as he tramped on behind him and at last, short on breath that for so long sustained his life, came to a halt and walked, bent slightly at the at the waist and gripping his side. Air blasted from his overworked lungs, gripping the night breeze and riding it off into the world

The smoke drifted, as this wicked night had uttered and proven, in all directions, disappearing to where the eye meets the sky, and then to where the sky meets the mind. And it was Silas who first saw it and then cared, it was he feared, his stomach now flapping to the beat of the butterflies wing, her home, a home he had shared in more than his own. But he hadn't seen it yet. Not yet, he told himself, it might be someone else's home, a neighbor perhaps, anybody; someone else. Rounding the last corner, his face confused but aware, alive but alone, he whipped his eyes into the heart of the smoldering darkness, the vile orange glow that could spell only loss, a loss so great that meaning is to empty a word. He huffed and he puffed.

Taking into the depths of his bent contentment, his malformed connection to himself, his missing part, the world slowly became not one of peace, but rather one of a mute joy. His head became lighter and a condemning aura of wellbeing, of happiness true, struck him as he clung to hope, clung to certainty, knowing that Mary hadn't been caught at home, or better yet that she had survived the furnace and waited there inside.

But what, he thought to himself, is true if not our hopes, our dreams and our certainties?

High above the moon sat waiting, watching, and wanting, just as did the man, Silas, there in the pale milk of that orb, those stars, this meteor shower, his face lit with its wreathed light, illuminating the smile and the wide eyes. He took a step. One small, eyes fixed, then one large and swift, and another, another, another, and another. He was at the door, charred and black, crumbling beneath his gaze, its void stretching out for him calling his hand to reach for it, to touch it, in solidarity. And the smell, the smell was over powering, what, he thought, is reality if not this? That burnt vigor that all things once aflame possess embraced his nostrils, his soul, and called to him. See me, they said, see what I am. He pushed just so on the ash that gave way to his near caress, what was once the door fading to nothing. He stepped through it. The ceiling was a patchwork of crusty black beams, beams that had been a support structure for this place, and through it only shown the fire of the sky, the fire of the end. His foot raised and fell, crunching softly on marred wood, on what had once been a doll, black and ashen, before rising again moving across the depth of the floor, showered in only a steam stemming from the heat of fire long bereft, long forgotten.

There she lay.

A body so holy so burned, twisted by the sick flames of disaster, struck low by the same winds of time. On her back she slept, darkened face searching the night, sailing the deep, eyes and hands, ears, legs, all charred black.

Realizing in sad step that death sees through all secrets he stopped, embittered by the notion, and bent to her on hands and knees, pulling her to himself, a corpse so far from life, still and alone, but to him also wondrous.

But the tears, they would not show.

Then came a scream.

It wrenched his throat as he stood and turned seeing Francis, there, watching, his eyes too sold with the same suffering. But Silas was forced by ill thought to retain a dissaffected happiness, as if his soul were not entirely his own. With a slow pivot he turned to look at her once more, there, in all her splendor.

Euphoria clutched at him from somewhere he could not determine or imagine, holding him rock steady in his spirit and resolve.

And he collapsed to the floor in a stones drop, diving into sleep, into what might come next.

The meteor shower ended, just as suddenly as it began.

Chapter four

"But he will go to war, that is certain. And when the time comes I will deliver him into your hands, and, as promised, you will hold up to your end of the bargain."

The Praetor's cold words laced around his tongue and played at the ears of the court jester, and with a sly slight grin, a gleam of the eye, and a smooth lie, he continued.

"Engar and Dorshen shall unite through brotherhood and not through war, remember, where trade crosses borders an army dare not."

Staring obliquely into the Praetor's slick grin, the jester, disguised in all his useless appendages, bells and bright stripes, gave his stark response, grave and dignified.

"Truth be told, our spices and your kingdom's over abundant mineral, sulfur, you call it, do well to compliment one another. The Speaker of Dorshen has given to me authority for negotiation of a free trade between our two peoples, if and when the time does come."

The Praetor's face scrunched slightly as his head cocked to the side, eyeing the jester thoughtfully. He responded in uncertain kind.

"What could you possibly need that useless mineral for, with its foul odor? I am not a man of suspicion, but I am a man of caution. Indeed, share with me the intent of Dorshen and I will consider the trade negotiations carefully, _very_ carefully."

His brass bell studded cap, the jester, clapped in humble pretension as he removed it from his head, his long shoulder length hair, of a golden hue, swayed in the sweeping motion, and his whole body bent in one great bow to the man before him, to the Praetor. Jester's arms swung round his red and blue dyed waist and clothing before he raised his head high again and stared into the Praetor's eyes. The eventide's mellow scent sifted through the air as the two men, diplomats, men of power, men tied in some small way to the truth, stood face to face, eye to eye. Peachy white and nostalgic pink glowed at the edge of the horizon, where the sun now went to bed and where the moon was yet to wake, while the inky blue faded to friendly black. In the royal gardens, over looking the sacred city of Verlan, those two stood, their eyes passing over all that one of them wanted, and all that the other feared. In the ethereal light of twilight the sleepless flowers budded bright, some white, some red, some pink, thorny roses tied to darker greens, all listening intently to the men that had noticed everything but the flowers very presence, their beauty. Beauty, it seemed, was something that had, and will have, eluded so much of life's livers, and so much of what is real, wanting instead of and for itself.

With his face now at eyelevel with him, the Praetor spoke with the strength of his mind, his voice now coaxing and calm.

"Bear with me, you understand that I am no great acquaintance to unnecessary deception, that I do not and would not lie to a friend and trusted ally. But, it seems in this regard, though I do appreciate your formality as well as your personality, that you intend to acquire these minerals with some… some _unseen_… some disingenuous motive, and to think, " he spat spitefully, "that you would attempt to violate my-_our_-trust, is despicable in its very nature, and at its very core."

His beard gripped his chin with uncanny force as it rose up and down in disguised anger and mock chagrin, his falsehoods saturated in their own satire. Looking levelly at the man before him, the Praetor retorted once more with a smooth familiarity, now certain of motives unclear. Crickets bold and certain droned on in the background, stealing away at silence and waiting for their speech.

"Why is sulfur of such importance? Ha! I would but give it to you if your intention were made clear. What is it for? Does it possess some miraculous healing properties? Is it some close kinsman to gold, per chance? My alchemists will tell me, if you do not, and it will reflect poorly on you and on our faith in each other."

And the Jester replied, a scowl sown into his face and his eyes all but aflame,

"Fine. I will confess. It is no kin to gold, nor does it possess any of the properties a healer might consider relevant, but rather…"

He stopped for a slow second, wrapped in all of the possible implications of what he might say next, before continuing.

"…it is the base for a new and powerful weapon."

The Praetor smiled, nodding his head with a slight dip, as if to approve the Jester's next words.

"This weapon is nothing new to our peoples, but rather something reborn. It is the sword. Dorshen alchemists, as you call them, have configured a method by which to manufacture swords of the strongest temperaments, tested, tried and true."

And it was with begrudging annoyance that he fed the Praetor this lie, whose hand raised and clapped down hard on the back of the ridiculously clothed Jester, laughing merrily before picking up on the disdain in emissary's eyes. Praetor, narrowing his face with slight precaution, as if to test the truth of each word, chuckled a bit, now content that he had gained some forbidden truth, or some sacred knowledge. And then he spoke once more, with a filial air, his warm hand still resting cold on the Jester's shoulder.

"Ahhh. It all becomes so lucid; such clarity. Why else would an isolationist Dorshen become so interested in trading with an idiot run war mongering Engar? Self defense. And this mystery element, sulfur, will Engar, the new Engar, my Engar, share in the fruits of its development? The trade that we agree upon will be fair, but not unduly so. I offer to you for every ton of your spice and half ton of iron a one half ton of our sulfur."

Rippling in the barely contained motions of his ardent smiles and passionate articulations, the Praetor's wisdom waned, wanting for more, never hoping for less. Curved shoes shuffling about, the Jester stared obliquely at his feet, playing into his role, feigning his complete defeat, but solemnly assessing, looking for that simple second to strike. And surgically, with disdain for the Praetor's offer, he inserted his remarks, commenting, as he planned to, on the injustice of the Praetor's proposal. His chirping voice, now replete with bitterness, rang true like a bell.

"Such a trade agreement does not bode well for Dorshen, or her satellites, and it almost certainly doomed to failure in the congresses of my great nation. I am actually insulted that you would think so little of me, of Dorshen, as to seriously consider offering such an inexact and inappropriate trade. What would be satisfactory, you see, would be an agreement where both sides shared equal benefit, but before we can reach such a point we must first achieve something that we both know and understand as trust. Trust my dear friend, the greatest liar of them all, must be made true and made pure by our two peoples if such trade is to endure. Now, with your blessing, I have a proposal to make."

Pausing deliberately, irately, he waited for the firm but rounded man before him to acknowledge his challenge, to acknowledge change, while the clouds overhead churned in the sky, once pink and peach, now blanketed blue and burned black. And so he did. The Praetor, nodded his head once, granting audience to what he only knew would be a deal made far less sweet, but not quite yet sour.

The Jester's bittersweet voice poured from his lips, soaking and surrounding the Praetor in an attempt to predispose him for what would come next.

"Praetor, my dear friend, Henry, as I know your name to be, I think that now would be a good time to drop the formalities."

Shock was tied to the Praetor's face, taken completely unawares by this breach of their unspoken protocol, but he responded in like kind.

"Alright Jasper, have it your way. What is your brilliant deal? What plans have you now?"

Jasper, breathing out long and deep through his nose, and arching his head back toward the sky, slowly filling with stars as they fell in drip by drip and drop by drop, collected his will and his wits before continuing.

"I, and with the might of Dorshen to back me, propose this. That for every one ton of your sulfur, of which I recognize your fear and admonition, we offer one quarter ton of spices and one ton of iron, and furthermo-"

"That is preposterous!" Henry bellowed, "You and I both know that this mysterious element is worth far more to your side than it is to mine! I want-"

"Henry," Jasper said with the cool calculating eyes of cunning, "do not misunderstand me! You had hardly allowed me to finish my sentence, which is what I now intend to do. Furthermore," he said paternally, "we will give you the fruits of our research; we will train your alchemists after such fashion as our experimentalists, and they to will wield this element as we do. Agreed?"

"Greed, but not agreed." Henry said, before the two of them shared a brief and honest laugh, the type that only emerges in the face of the truth.

"I _consent_." were Henry's words, as the two standing there still smirked at the irony of it all.

But Jasper was not quite yet through. Turning away from the Praetor for an instant, to check the starry sky above and the sleepy city beneath, to check and make sure that it was all still real, he reveled. He reveled in the chimneys leaking their smoke, the orange dots of bonfires where danced around them small figurines, people, happy and content, unaware of the foulness of politics, and the deceptions of threat and of war.

He turned once more to face Henry, who had now taken to stroking his beard, pouring over the implications of what he knew Jasper might say next, wondering.

Jasper spoke a truth that they both had known would come into the light all too soon.

"Of the things we have discussed, only one more remains, what will the new government, your government, do?"

The Praetor's eyes, in that moment, became more keen, more aware, more alive, arms folded, now, across his chest as he spoke with the authority of certainty.

"My government will act only in the best interests of Engar, not of the concept, but of the people. I wake, I sleep, and I dream, and in these three things there is but one commonality. Engar. I will restructure according to what I have learned in passing from you and yours. I will have elected officials to replace the bumbling nobles; their self centered motives all but blind them. They know nothing of truth or of beauty or of things past, or of things to come. They know only the here and the now, the taxes, the whip, the futile feudalism and ashes of their own of failures. I will bring order."

Henry paused in his rousing vision, the specter of finality in his eye, staring out over all that he could see, would rule, and wanted to become. Verlan. As beautiful at night as it had been in the day, and would ever be. But he caught himself, caught the scent of his own hunger and then commanded it with his own sense of self control. Features once bold and inflated now were calmed and abated, though none of his passion was lost. He looked the Jester square on, who almost quailed before the might of his dream, his prophecy, and then spoke with the warmth of assurance.

"But Jasper, do not mistake me for a madman, only blood that must be spilt will be spilt. Engar and Dorshen will unite through trade and peace and will not shatter themselves through a fool's war, and I plan, for when the end of my reign comes, as all ends must, to replace myself with an elected council as do your people. Democracy. Is that democracy, Jasper? Am I near to something that has meaning? That is real?"

But Jasper could only smile and wonder, beneath all of the deceptions, the lies and deceit, he could only imagine, what drove this man? His only conclusion could be that this man, Henry, the Praetor, was a man of zeal, ardency, obsession, but none overplayed. Their trust in each other, Jasper and Henry, may not have been misplaced.

"Your ideals are noble and will come to fruition," Jasper said, the wiles of his methods now replaced with something much closer to awe, "of that I am sure. But before we make the mistake of abandoning the present in favor of the future, before we fall prey to our own wants, however true or unequaled, we must decide."

Standing there, beneath the wiry matrix of stars, stars given to the heavens, in the black of night, they smiled. Jasper, now distracted from the power of their conversation, took small time to explore something he had not yet thought to explore, something the Praetor had inadvertently accused him of. One foot, bells jingling, moved in front of the other, step by step, yard by yard, until he reached the large bush of roses, their red turned crimson by darkness, their green turned black. Plucking the rose bud he ran his unsullied hands over each soft petal, formless to the touch but so full of shape, pulling the delicate flower to his face and again to his nose. Beauty.

"How will we dispose of the king?"

Chapter five

Prescience, in Silas' mind, became priceless. Had Silas but known the cost of his impetuousness and decisions he would have assuredly have stayed his own hand, have silenced his own tongue, and had saved Mary and himself. And he sat there still, immersed, consumed by guilt, but more so by his pleasure, neither able to condone his past actions, or condemn them. Something, it seemed, had taken possession of him and did not intend to leave go. Yet despite this the gray smoke of fires past, unbound by gravity, unwound its way up and even down, flowing like time off to some unseen end, some cool birth of the morn. His body sat there, in that spot, not but some odd feet from the healer's house in the town square, head tucked neatly in his lap, sadness lost, and happiness incomplete. Wondering, waiting, wanting, what must she have been thinking in that moment, what must he have been thinking, when they split? Where was she when she was most needed? What was he when she was not around? The sallow paleness brewed in him as people gradually fell into the town square, some rising from the fray, their sleepless minds driving sleepy bodies that were all too still drunk on the night before, if not then on the liquor.

Dong…Dong…Dong…Dong.

Gossam's brass plated bell, near golden to the eye and fire to the mind, sounded its rapport, beckoning the town come hither as its four story wooden tower rose readily above the town hall and its surrounding square, all ears near coming to hear in the cloudless mid morn. The sun it shown, its hidden hues, blinding but brittle rays shattering and shaking this little town and shedding a light reserved, on life in Gossam, unkempt. Silas shuddered. How was he to escape this madness? This nightmarish joy, that had with such sinister passion seized his soul and tormented his mind, delineating his sanctity? He rose to embrace the morn, his eyes full of humor, a chuckle barely escaping his lips.

Sliding down the ladder, his back to the world and his rough hands burnt by friction, the town crier stopped his cries, standing at the base of the bell tower and peering out amongst the crowd before him, gazing with a sharp darkness into the depths of the almost hopeless before him. With an ominous benevolence he shouted out loud to the crowd.

"Fear not! I beseech you! Look around you."

Hundreds of heads that had not five minutes ago been in the vicinity turned, wide eyes wet with tear, open mouths dripping with an unattached sense of reality that belied their hopeless terror. The crier, his long scraggily hair unkempt and unfolding around his bony face, continued in zest.

"What you see is destruction, an absolute contempt for our way of life! Who among you! Who among you did this? Should he be not punished? I remember with dread the very second of the hour that I heard that fell voice on the air. 'The world is ending!' it said. 'I believe you' I said, and I ran from my home to see what the matter could be. And lo! The world was ending merely because this man, this man among us, had decreed it so. Our town acted on a lie, and that lie became truth, a truth you see around you!"

Again, eyes surveyed the burnt mass of broken lives, the toppled homes, and the greatest tribute to ignorance that this side of the world had ever seen, rubble torn from the structure of what must have been a child's once safe haven, someone's home. But guilt too, that ever present charade that drove men to some false sense of empathy acknowledged only through force, it twisted the town's faces. With power, the crier continued.

"A man of passion, he fell last night, a man committed in earnest to this town's wellbeing, to Engar, to greatness. It was Gaius."

Gasps rippled through the crowd like some pebble dropped in a pond, guilty noses now downcast, horrified at what they had done.

"But I see a future! A chance at new life!" the crier said with fire, "We must rid our selves of this plague, this… this fool! The one who did this must die!"

A roar exploded from the hateful mouths of the maniacal madmen, by the hundreds, fists waving in short form. He continued above the raving as the townsfolk began a slow steady chant, rising in volume.

"Gaius was our trusted leader, known to and loved by all, and his-"

"kill…kill…"

"-memory will never be forgotten. This day will hencefo-"

"Kill…Kill…Kill…"

"-rth be known as Gaius day, in celebration of the life of the Great Gaius, our arbitrator, consul and friend, and-"

"KILL…KILL…KILL…KILL"

"-the death of his murderer!"

A horrendous snarl shot forth from the townsfolk, their vigor for revenge and craving for blood hardly sated by last nights feast, wanting more, driving for something else.

"Who!" the booming crier declared, "Who was the one who made this nightmare our world? Who condemned us to this madness?"

Pausing, face blazing with a dark light, he scanned the eager crowd, none among them spoke.

"Do not be dumb, but speak! If you know who it was then now tell the people so that the people may mete out justice and order will be restored. Order is what we deserve, what Gaius deserves; do not betray what was once his vision for this town with a fearful silence. Your help will be rewarded."

Their faces warming to the challenge, men and women of the crowd turned and faced one another, ears perking and fingers pointing in an undignified witch hunt among friends, fellows, and enemies. At length a burned hand shot out with a condemning finger pointing into the heart of the crowd, and with it a cry.

"I know who it was!" a voice yelled.

It was a woman who had been taken by the fires the night before, that had seen Silas firsthand, and whose mind could not lose hold of her own sanity which had been coming in doses after her escape from death. After her words were heard the crowd immediately riled and claimed the ears of everyone who could hear their wild melee and sensible ruckus. Silas sat still, waiting on the verdict of those who could remember his countenance from the night before.

"Well then," the crier said with lulling anger to the crowd, "we shall soon see who is to blame, who will be dealt with. Pity, that is how Gaius shall be remembered, or is it through our outright justification of deed!"

Surveying the crowd in due kind the woman, and several others who witnessed the beginning, at last came to settle their gaze on where Silas sat in emotional disarray, his mind clumping itself together in his head. With the assurance of sight the witnesses claimed knowledge of Silas and the town reacted with the crier again leading the charge.

"It was you!" the crier declared at where Silas rested with a near vacant expression, summoning the crowd. "It must have been you, these people here are not fools, they know your quality. You can't hide from our justice with your pantomime! Grab him and bring him forth so that we may all see him and decide."

Then, without warning a large and muscled man grab hold of Silas and pulled him on his feet half dragging him half forcing him to the front of the crowd that had waited with undue and uncharacteristic patience for the one responsible to fall under the spot light. Unclean from the night before and wearing clothes that smelled of that night's unpleasantries he was harangued to the forefront with the crier where all could see.

"Was it you? Did you do this?" someone from the crowd yelled.

Now standing on his own two feet with his mind disposed and distracted he responded with a weak tremor before a solitary tear rolled off of his cheek and struck at the dust near his feet which pooled into a glob of watery dirt that sat waiting judgment as did everything else Silas could do. The crier then surveyed the townsfolk, their instinct governing their accord. Looking out over them he saw an intent in their eyes that put the taste of power in his mouth and on his tongue, leaving a singe in his true and dirty nature that he had harbored for such a time as this. He shouted forward at Silas with arms gesticulating wildly and a look of ravenous hunger on his face, hunger for punishment, while signaling for more townsmen to grab hold of him.

"Was it you? Was it really and truly you, one whom I might have called brother?" he said in Silas' direction.

With no argument in his brain to overcome his honesty he nearly responded that he had called the town out in the night to do riot but was cut short as the memories of the witnesses at a closer range seemed to light up.

"It was him." the witnesses murmured to themselves, just loud enough to be heard by all.

That alone was enough to drive the vengeful crier whose thirst for blood had risen into a heart thumping need to tell them that they had caught their prey. With a snarl on his face that could no longer mask his desire to see someone killed he informed the crowd with exuberance.

"We have our man!"

A mass of raised fists waved through the cool morning air as shouts poured from mouths agape to deafen all else, men and women charged forward with vindictive grins and earth shaking growls toward the front of the crowd. Tumultuously they made declarations of demeanor and of what they thought to do with Silas.

"Give him no trial, instead give him the mark!"

"Drag him, hit him, trample him like swine as we were!"

But as it stood, as the crowd surrounded him a grabbed and punched at him, the same large man who had dragged him to the front of the crowd shouldered him like a burden as the formidable mass of townsfolk finally decided on taking him past the edge of town and having their way with him. Seeing fairly what would happen to Silas the big man considered in his mind the unnecessary pain that the poor man he carried would endure and looked briefly into his eyes knowing him for an instant to be worthy of a less vindictive fate. With the entire town now moving in full speed of triumph and candor the man wrenched back his arm and mercifully chucked a blow to Silas head, whose world faded to black, perhaps sparing him of some of the pain he would no doubt have had to endure. The man lugged his graciously unconscious cargo and they eventually reached the edge of town, but still ventured further as if to seal him away from them for an eternity, as though they all hadn't suffered enough. Having reached their final destination the small crowd that remained stayed in lock with the vigor and resolve of the town crier and all that he demanded. They at length began to debate the resting point of action with the capture they had made, resting in a small clearing by the road that seemed to have little sprouts of weeds and flowers all about. Their considerations only decried a world in which that which can go wrong seemingly does so without pause or break.

"What should we do with him? Kill him?" a townsman said while they all closed the gaps around which Silas could have stood to escape from.

"No." said another, "We should at least consider letting him live with his grief. I say we give him the mark, paint in on him or burn it into him after we've roughed him up a bit. Killing him now like this will only add to our pain and tragedy. There is no reason any more for any of this, let's just banish him with the mark to return on pain of death."

Flitting bouts on consciousness now rocked Silas' head as he came to barely before falling into an empty stupor. He was lying on his stomach face down in a weeded clearing wondering about his unjust fate before he passed out again, but just as he did he heard the frenetic crier still clinging to the notion of taking a man's life after another man's death.

"We must dispose of him." the crier said to the surrounding people, trying to hide his no longer dormant passion. "We must do unto him as he would have allowed done to us. Kill him. Kill him and seal his life force away from ours this very day and instant, win us our great victory and bring us our great day." Pulling up his shirt sleeves and sending a quelled beady look out among the townsfolk he continued. "We cannot just let this charlatan slip through our nets; now that we have him his end should come, let the afterlife settle his posterity, not us. We have little if any reason to see him survive, what say you people?"

They responded by passing in hands forward a well of dark sinister ink that had no fair value outside of its own foul order with a brush to apply some type of mark and weighted chains as if to bind someone a prisoner. The people nearest Silas began to tear away at his shirt until it was nothing less than tattered rags and they flipped him onto his back with his proud but still unconscious breast reared at the sky. Seizing hold of his arms and legs they held him still against whatever valor he might have swayed into them had he been awake and they applied the would be permanent tattoo ink to the back side of his hand, some striking at him, bruising his form. After some time, in plain sight of all who could see, they finished the mark on his hand which was nothing more than a seven sided star with the words 'foolish one' written in the center. It dried quickly on his skin as the folk began to rile one last time as if to take his life in line with their previous accord with the crier. But today it was not to be. Amidst the more aggressive of the people who pummeled him he finally regained his wits and came to with his features in total disregard and his body a disheveled mess. He still had strength to run, he noted and as he sprung to his feet, tearing away from those closest to him, he took off like a bolt and flew clear across the matted plant life of the clearing toward the forest tree line before anyone had time to react. With the large group of people trailing him who had in the moment given him a mark he could only sense rather than see or feel he glanced over his shoulder after the first few steps to see them in immediate and unforgiving pursuit, knowing all the while that if they caught up with him for one second at the crier's words his life would surely come to an early end.

The clearing was wide and spacious and although his ribs were badly bruised he seemed to cross it with a fervent ease, wasting no time as his life was at stake. In his eyes the same dull disconcertment had taken hold of him again, the same twiddling euphoria that had gripped him after the death of Mary and it seemed never to have let go. His senses waned and shuddered as he at last sprung through the tree line into a dense forest where the pursuers apparently stopped to restore themselves and pursue their next option and available course of action. Leaving them at the edge of the clearing he continued his mad man's dash through the tree line which was dense and cover the forest floor with browned leaves and nettles that stretched as far around and before him as he could hope to perceive. He broke down from his sprint with the sun's bright and illustrious rays now well hidden by the canopy into a well paced jog to create as much distance as he could between himself and the killers that had formerly been his brethren.

He was free, with the exception of his new ink mark and the beating he had taken.

After some time of jogging, and with many miles separating him from Gossam he stopped for a solid rest and examined his hand only to see that his ink prison was cleverly made and finely done. Sitting down on the forest bed beneath him and huffing through slight breath and short wheezes he tried calming his nerve center, as if to escape that sad feeling that had encompassed him since he began his true escape hours ago. It came to him after some time to find a bout of running water and attempt to wash away the shameful mark which had seized precedence over his hand. He began a furtive search in the forest which had become more spread out as he had traversed its breath over the hours. The floor of the woods was free of all small vegetation and fern and instead Silas had to cross over the bare expanse with towering trees and leaves that swayed green with the breeze. He didn't have to go far.

In the heart of the forest he found a small brook with which to try at erasing his vain glorious mark and surveying his vantage he picked a smooth and firm holding stone before walking up to the brooks edge. Stopping by the cool running water's crystal flow he stooped and drove his hands in to the passing stream of liquid before rubbing madly at the mark with the stone which tore away at the back side of his hand leaving it a little raw but none worse for the wear. The red hand revealed that the mark could be washed away and with a controlled effort after scrubbing for a good amount of time all that was left was a faint tracer of what had once before been there. With the star and words all but disappeared from his slightly bloodied hand he cupped them and extrapolated a handful of water and drank it slowly but happily.

For a moment he collected his wits and sat staring upward at the little bit of open sky that the brook provided which was blotted out by clouds. He recognized that he needed a bearing, and fast. The forest around him, he realized, might not be as forgiving or even inviting in the night time as it had appeared to him in the day. Searching his mind he thought only of a road, if one could be found, in order to make it to the next town over from Gossam provided that he had not been tracked. When his rest had passed and his body felt full and fit, at least in part, he took into his mind to climb a tall and strong tree to take a look at the forest from the top to the bottom. Lifting himself to his feet and crunching leaves underfoot he walked a short distance to a fir tree that stood enormous in his path and then grappled it with his hands in order to start a planned and intentional, but not fast moving, ascent to the top. Branch after branch sloped in little part beneath his weight until finally he was at the top of the tree peering regally over the entirety of the expansive woodland that had saved his life for the first time it had ever been necessary. On the breeze he could smell strongly the odor of living wood and tender limb which brought a definite and resolute comfort to him at this great height, which gave him a small and elusive chill. Out on the distance the woods stretched for miles which did not directly interest Silas. What loosened his mind instead was a small wavering and rising billow of tar black smoke rising some ways off from what he could only be certain was someone's campsite that, he reckoned, would take the better part of the day to reach. Gathering his final bearings he decided on moving in on the camp and asking for their direction, if it was indeed a group to be asked rather than an individual, toward the nearest wooded road, and with any luck, he thought to himself, he would eventually reach the capital city of Verlan. Clamoring down the live green tree at least twice the speed at which he had climbed it he immediately pursued the smoke he had seen at the pinnacle of the woodland.

Day slowly became night as his muscles lifted him onward, step by lonesome step, while he labored to keep his dead set sense of direction toward whatever campfire awaited him by mounting and scaling the occasional tree to make sure that he followed proper line of sight. The trail, though it had been partly rough, ended exactly where he thought it would, with the setting sun's shattered rays penetrating partly through the canopy and splaying out over the ground before and around him. With the sky darkening and the small fire bearing down on him more quickly which each step taken, he then stopped just out of range of its light to take the simple precaution of surveying before hand with acuity and stealth who he might end up dealing with if it were at all possible.

Chapter Six

A set of footsteps made their way quietly through the woods dipping into the base of the forest floor, kneading it softly. They had with them a certain acquired elegance that came from the practice of tracking and with every step it grew to a greater fulfillment. The man, checking his motion to gaze for a moment at the trail someone else had blazed here before him, was a well sized figure wearing a sleeved shirt and a belt that meant worlds to his hazed mind. It had twenty or so notches in it, notches that represented prior tracing and the following acts that he had lived through before, all of which demarcated for his treacle a life he had taken. He was on the hunt and with the open day before him he felt as though nothing in the wide world could set him crooked from his path.

The crier resumed his loping pace following the tracks he had picked up on and ruminated in himself about how great and fortunate a move his prey had made in escaping, to his thrill, and how lucky he was to be free to search and follow him outside the prison of his normal killing grounds. In his heart, and ages past, he had been forced to kill and with that life taking event a taste grew in him that made him fall away from the grace of what he had formerly been.

It was a fight with an acquaintance over who would tell the town healer of an injured man's dishonest apparel, of how the injured man had lied to receive honest aid. That alone wouldn't have caused the healer to bat an eyelash, but the liar had failed to tell that he could have paid the fee. Voices had risen on the part of the crier and his foe, leading to a mortal fight that ended in one's death. The emotional trauma never left the survivor and it festered in his soul driving him to a silent mania that forced him to try to relive the incident whenever possible. The riots for him had been perfect cover and innocent Gaius was merely the first in a long line of victims to go, which wasn't nearly enough to sate the crier's foul thirst. Aging had given him the wisdom to overcome the imperfections in his work and he had grown to a level of expertise that shocked even himself at times. With no one in Gossam at least slightly suspicious he had built his mind around the impregnable fortress of his ill gotten deeds and never looked back; to him there was and could never be any opposition to his word and that little detail was what had driven him to become the town crier.

Reaching a very small glade he peered around, certain that he had lost the scent but that it could be picked up on again. Crossing the land to the wood once more he noticed a tree that seemed to have a considerable crook to its boughs as though someone had tried to climb it. Taking his hunting knife of iron out of his belt and swiftly tightening his grip around it he moved slowly toward the tree to make sure that nothing still lurked about, or at the very least that it was not some well planned trap or attack. Knowing that it wasn't had been enough for him as he began the climb to the top of the bent tree to see what the ever leery eyes of his prey might have seen so as to pick up clues to what might have become his new direction. He too noticed the smoke from the campsite and began the swift drop to the base of the massive tree to hasten his case for punishment that he desired to see himself, if not for Gaius. At the bottom he ran his thumb over the harshly sharpened blade of his knife in a sense of belittled wonder for its purpose, as if feeling it could offer something of what he thought he might accomplish with it in hand.

The light was waning and if he continued double step he might make it through the wood before nightfall and make his slick move to satisfy his burgeoning personal sense of right. He felt unambiguous and was slowly disconnecting from anything that resembled normalcy. The clockwork of his mind quite obviously, as he played with the point of his blade, rhymed with a different rhythm. There was no great reason, he thought, that this man running out and well ahead of him could have to justify his own existence, nothing in his mind, not even the precarious exception of true love excused him from the glib fate the crier had in store for him. He wondered for a moment what gears had fallen into disrepair in a mind that loved, and as he toyed over the notion, he questioned just what in existence could actually cause him to spare the life of his game.

Would it be some quick remark? Something deep an unoffending that would enable him to reason outside of the decayed spirit of the identity that had asserted itself over his mind? Or would it be the struggle, if fought hard enough, that would win his ultimate respect and cause him to unhinge his poor seated desire to see him fall. Whatever rope had come undone in his mind could hardly begin to earn its own forgiveness, and the crier knew it. If there were a world far greater than this one that he lived in at play, then most assuredly his strife had just begun.

Something of the eternal stirred in him and he quickened his pace hoping to catch Silas off guard and before nightfall. In the twilight he pressed himself now to find the furthest root of his insecurities and why he truly allowed himself to commit to the false and horrid courses of action that he found, but no thoughts true rang clear enough in his head to dissuade him from smelling the dividing line between life and death itself. It was that smell that he reasoned most likely allowed him to feel as though he had a whole self to cling to, and that he was no longer weak in anyone's eyes, or off guard. Perhaps for him it was just a unique sense of freedom that could not in totality be conjectured about, but however it was he knew no that he was as close to running down the man he sought to find in these deep woods as he would ever be. He could taste someone else's presence and it was a thick odor of sweat and turmoil as though in the large free world it had not greater place to turn than clear into his spiny bosom for whatever it held.

It was night and darkness through and around as Silas hunched forward in the faded light to see and hear what he might from the ample fireside that seven or so people occupied to their fullest. They carried with them an aura of finality as they worked over a small roast that hung from an impromptu fire spit. They appeared grizzly and with a little grime, when visible, and considered among themselves what their next headway would be through the thinning forest and where it would take them. The firelight reflected off of shiny medallions that had been in a way crudely hammered out of copper and other elements that offered a hearty luster to the chest that it situated about. Though they were far from savages, after a time they tore into the meal that had sat well in the burnt embers of the cooking fire, savoring piece after piece. It was not long before they began to talk in rational and well relieved tones, the element of bickering all but removed.

"Finally, a meal cooked proper."

"No worries mate, this here is all you can eat, there ain't no tax on bread."

A man tossed a hardened but well sought after loaf to another.

"Yeah, but there's still tax on everything else. Why, just within the last three days the taxes have gone up, I heard about it from the courier from when last time yesterday we stopped in the town."

That, I reckon, is 'cause that fool hardy king might be up to his knees in shifty dealings, I think he's got a poor head for anything but counting his own wealth.

"I think," said another furtively, his brow raising slightly and showing a moment of honest insight, "that we are headed straight for war, that would explain it."

"No way, what for? We ain't got no reason to run off to no war, it don't make proper sense."

"You got to know your history," said one "the king takes right after his family and they made their names in conflict and ready dispute, no two ways about it. Mark my words, there is nothing out there but cold business, and I say the king means to heat it up."

"If you say so, but I still say no one would move for it."

"No joke, so that's why he set up all those taxes. That'll fill his coffers and every soldier will get his pay from that or plunder."

"I say it's all a conspiracy against the little man, it's all designed to hold us down."

"Well, that's not to worry about, we certainly aren't being held down. In fact as far as being held is concerned we're making good time on the trek to Verlan and when we get there that business we'll found will naturally flower. It's like that old man said before he went crazy, try once, try twice, but never miss a beat."

"It was too bad about that old man how he went loon. I remember him from better times, from before that dark mineral that he was experimenting on showed up in his life."

"Yes, that was an accidental shame. It consumed him, right up until the days when he lost his sight and right now the pity of shared friends is the only thing keeping him alive and going."

"You can't blame the tragedy on the good will of others, that pity is something he earned."

"It is hard to believe that something so innocent seeming could have taken him that far from himself, the one time that he took me to see the ore of it he was on the verge of madness, barely intelligible, babbling about how its majesty could cure all ills and settle all wrongs. I didn't believe it myself at first but when-"

He was cut short in Silas' ears as a man silently and swiftly, as though he had incubated on his plan, flew into him from nowhere, striking madly with the blunt of one hand into his back, and with the other he deftly covered over his mouth. Stifled grunts emerged from both men as they sorely wrestled one another to the ground. No one at the camp seemed to notice and continued blithely in their conversation. Rolling around in the dirt and bramble the crier, whose face was barely visible in the darkness twisted and pulled with the might of a beast gone mad at his intended prey while Silas flailed in disaffected reverie at his attacker knowing nothing of his immediate safety, wondering in his mind if this man had somehow seen him from the fireside and sensibly snuck in behind him to find him creeping.

The knife came out and in a silvery flash it struck Silas, but luckily only by the flat of the blade, welting him. The man atop him struggled with the knife, harnessing it in two hands and throwing his body weight into a downward thrust, leaning fully onto his victim who lay squarely beneath him. With the knife cupped in his two palms his pressure was resisted at every step by Silas' strong arm, which he used to deflect the gravitational weight of his opponent. Sweat roiled on his skin pitching a solid odor that spread itself about the confines of the battle area. His facial muscles contracted and contorted into a vindictive grimace as victory still yet eluded him. Tossing the crier at last to the side his face fell firmly into the orange light of the fire, revealing his maddening reality from the town. Silas, who instinctively struck a vicious blow to the side of his head, was careful to avoid the weapon in the crier's hand as it would have been sure to have cut at him. Knowing now that it was the crier, who acted in total contempt of his station for the town, Silas though breathing heavy, quickly drew the thought that something was far from safe about what this man had once, and still might have been, to everyone at Gossam. The crier saw himself, or by the dawning shock on his victim's face, that he had been identified and with great effort he scampered a few feet away from Silas and drew bodily to his feet. He was slightly hunched into a fighting stance that offered him a leaning grab or swipe with his knife and he was slightly dizzied from the blows he had suffered by his well and defensive opponent.

He was completely calm in stature and was preparing for a second quiet bout as the scene of their fight had rolled more than thirty feet from the original position and totally out of sensory range of the campsite. The two of them grappled eyes with one another and scowled. Before long the crier charged with a full vigor at the man before him, certain that now would be his twisted moment, and that Silas would surely fall dead before him. But Silas was too fast.

Side stepping the charge Silas had splashed a handful of powdered dust that he had collected in his hand into the face of the crier and then tossed him to the ground. Having never lost his grip on his knife he slashed blindly but was struck solidly by a stone that had drawn blood from his brow. Silas hefted and threw another, full force, trying to get a longer look at the maniac that had attacked him to be sure that it was the man he thought that it was. Seeing that he was in danger of being positively identified by Silas who very well might make his way back to town, or any town for that matter, he stubbornly and with tears of vile conceit festering in his eyes broke off into the pitch black night of the woods to find his kill some other day and save his reputation. Though the light of the fire had revealed the crier's face to Silas he was not quite sure that it was by the law of certainty the same town crier he had known for those long years. But his clear memory told him otherwise and, as the man in the darkness ran off, he decided for the better not to pursue as he perceived that it might have been a trap of some clever device. Nearly collapsed under his own tired weight he made his way slowly back to the light of the fire and toward what he assumed would be better company than the crazed town crier.

After a few gainful seconds he had reached the ring of the camp where he more clearly saw rucksacks and bags, filled with supplies and scripts, which bespoke a reasoned mentality when concerning the party that occupied the space. Rationalizing for a moment he began to make guesses as to their occupational realities. At first he thought maybe an architect or scribe but with the troubling burden of the crier on his mind he knew that his guesses couldn't even be half right. They saw him cleanly in the bouncing light. A bruised man in need of support and attention rolling in on them step by step with no logical purpose in mind that they could contrive, whose many problems seemed to glow through on his surreptitious features. He was now fully in the camp circle and pleased murmurs ceased as an aura of curiosity overtook everyone causing them to speak out loud to him.

"What is the matter friend?"

"Are you injured?" another exclaimed.

He responded panting and misconstrued. "My name is Silas. I was attacked in the darkness just outside of your circle."

"Is whatever attacked you still out there?"

"Yeah," said someone enthusiastically. "What beast lurks in the trees? Nothing we can't take down, was it?"

"None." was his statement, "It was a man, one that I might have known."

The camp leapt to arms and silently shouted one another down in repressed voices.

"Quick, arm yourselves with anything. Take this."

One thrust an iron skillet into another's hands, and another still seized a sizeable walking stick flexing before everyone's eyes.

"Is he still there?"

"Not so far as I know. I saw him retreat after he proved incapable of mortally wounding me." said Silas, his uncertainties bleeding from him.

"What if he comes back?"

"We'll have to set up a watch for the night and sleep with our eyes open."

They had taken to weapons now and were all standing round the warm effulgent light in an audacious circle. As well as the skillet and stick others held things like a stocky wooden pool and clenched fists besides. They held no blades or true weapons in the dark wood as they were all men of peace and constitution, though they found little of that in this open country and land.

"How can we be sure that you are not with him or otherwise on the side of that type of poor character?"

Another spoke for him. "Because he would not have warned us. Don't be dim."

"I suppose then that you are now wondering just who we are after whatever ordeal you had with that man. You are probably wondering whether or not we can be trusted as well, or are we in league with the one who attacked you. I assure you we are not. We are merely inventors making our way to Verlan for a convention to determine our fate. We mean only to explore the realm of our own minds using the new insights that we gain. Do not think of us on the same terms of those who would unabashedly do harm to others or yourself. If the man who attacked you has truly fled, which we will soon discover, then perhaps you can explain the trial you have gone through with him and even stay the night if you are in need of direction."

"You are fair and I accept your kind invitation to stay here for the night. Inventors you said you were? That's marvelous; I couldn't have stumbled across any better company."

"Sure you could have, you are just enduring our kind of luck. We've seen bears and else wise while out here but for now we must find him if at all possible to see where he has come from and what else, or who else, is with him. Our safety must be provided for. Everyone search the area around here and try to stay paired or close to one another! Be swift and silent."

The camp had split. They began to make hand motions to one another as they divided out of the light into the darkness to scour the surrounding territory for signs of the disillusioned attacker that had his way with Silas. Walking lightly, they loped out into darker woods with glints of a serious and predatory need in their eyes. They eventually all gathered at and around the spot that the scuffle had taken place as they thought to track the attacker's whereabouts. The ground was rustled and shredded from all the rolling about that had occurred and with heavy but prepared hearts they knelt down and some ran their hands through the disrupted nettle and soil looking and feeling for tracks as much as could be done.

For much avail they found nothing. Outside the arena that they had traversed, and tested for a trail, they saw only in the shimmering darkness more trees and bramble. At length they all looped back around after signaling each other and settled back into the camp. They scrambled about in the packs they had left there to make sure that it hadn't been an elaborate facade to make away with whatever valuables and supplies they carried in their absence. Finding only that nothing had been displaced or stolen everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and it wasn't long before they all broke the embarrassing silence.

Chapter Seven

"So what do you make of that? We found nothing." one of the inventors said.

While pawing through their rucksacks they carefully set about all manner of papers and texts. Silas, nearly wheeling from honest curiosity, could see among the papers well drawn pictures with emblems and seals for what looked to be carefully constructed schematics. It was a blur to him as they tossed these aside and pulled out even more, among which were the writing utensils themselves. A writing compass and charred wood that acted as a pencil came out of one of the bags causing Silas to question at least for a moment what it would be like to partake in their activities.

Pursuit of invention was not something that he had ever considered in his young life but now that he was presented with what just might be an equal opportunity he almost could not stop himself from letting questions roll off the tongue. Completely ignoring the statement the man had made about the search, and passing the chance to take names, he instead inquired about their spatial charts and schematics.

"What have you drawn plans for so far?" asked Silas openly. "I could not help but ask, having stolen a slight glance while you were all tearing through your bags. From here it looks like all the most interesting stuff. Was that building plans for some type of winged machine I see? It looks like it has them for a man to pump and take clear off with."

He asked this gesturing to papers that had been left carelessly on the ground by one of the men's feet.

"Lucky for you that's exactly what you're looking at." responded the man. "If you like it all that much, has a look. You really should consider at least sometime giving inventing a try yourself."

The man passed the designs over to Silas who bunkered down in his seat before peering through the thick sheets of parchment, forgetting his woes, which detailed in great and perfected vigor some type of vaguely thought out flying contraption with wings and what looked like manual pistons to flap with. It was large compared to humans and there were also variants of other devices, some for digging and others for building. All these creations and blueprints left a lingering thought on Silas' mind about what it would be like to see these things realized.

"That's not all we got here." said the same man. "The original reason that this inventor's conference was called was because of some type of black powder that was discovered. Apparently it has some sort of sulfur in it and when ignited with flame it will explode which could power an entirely new era of contraptions. Initially the inventor's guild wanted to see what folks might come up with as a use for it; it said so in the courier. Here, take a look."

He fished out a lengthy rolled up paper from his bag and tossed it lightheartedly over to Silas with a level grin. Silas immediately put the blueprints down and picked it up. It read 'Courier' at the top and as he looked deeper into it the thing described a sulfurous black powder, as the man had said, that can be made to explode. Already it outlined many uses for it that it encouraged inventors from everywhere to improve or elaborate on, one of which was a hand cannon. After reading the document right down to the end, and to its invitation to attend a convention in the capital city, he placed it neatly back with the other papers. The man there began to discuss their personal plans and suggestions for this great cannon powder, as they began to call it, and on the list of uses was as a cap for digging and clearing boulders.

"According to the reports and the Courier articles this powder is where our future may lie. It could provide an unrealized advantage in almost any situation, not to mention its value for nothing other than usable fun."

"Yeah, yeah. We've all heard about blasting powder but for anything other than bombs I can't see that it has any purpose."

"You're just saying that because you fear its uses. There is no greater discovery known to man at the moment and all you can do is complain."

"That's just my point, there are greater discoveries. For instance when I was back in my home town we had invented a water catapult. For fun we used to launch our selves out of it into the open sea by shooting it so that we didn't get more than fifteen feet off the ground. It was mind inspiring and I bet you it was a far cry better than this nonsense."

"What do you think its final application will be?" another asked.

"Obviously the gun, cannon, or for blasting. Already the testing has begun for a greater range of applications, and we ourselves have even drawn plans for guns and small arms. It clearly will start a revolution."

"Let's hope that it doesn't embolden our leaders to take unrealistic action. Not knowing them in the least bit I still get the sense that they would still consider us all their little team of soldiers."

"Back in my village there was near perpetual unrest over just those types of statements and occurrences. Seeing as we had lived near the outskirts there was some serious talk about leaving the kingdom and living out of our own freedom. In the end we stuck it out though, stayed with everyone, though we might have faired better elsewhere. "

"It's not as though anyone would have missed you, your work and lives couldn't have been all that important."

"Well, we were to ourselves. Everything was grand and slow moving, nothing ever went truly wrong and we stayed at peace with the land. I remember going out at night and chasing critters off our property and trying to capture them. I figured I'd feed them bugs from my collection or something. I used to keep them in tins and jars but they all died eventually. I never did catch any bugs that were all that rare, but it was well worth it."

Another of the inventors began to speak in the same sense of hesitant nostalgia, unable to recognize the instant and subtle shift in his being, talking slowly and clearly as though every syllable and punctuation mattered more than anything. He spoke more to Silas. Feeling the need to fully explain himself to the newcomer and reveling in every moment.

"My past isn't quite the same. I came from a disgruntled family and everybody seemed to know what was best for everyone else. My parents and my family lived in a fairly large city and so as you can imagine there was no lack of ale, which my father was never light on. He nearly drank himself to death, and my mother, well let's just say that she never spared the rod. She used to use a switch every time I stepped out of line, which was often enough, and she'd set me right. She wasn't bashful about it either. Then one day, my granny got sick with some type of fever, and for me, I became fixed on her. I was always out gathering herbal treatments for her, and I was glad to be doing it, but for me life with out her was never enough. She passed away and life got back to normal, if it ever had been. My father's drinking picked up into its habit again and he began building a mill just outside the city. That mill was how I got my start at inventing. I was so fascinated by its mechanisms and my dad taught me how to repair and maintain the gears. That was one of the proudest days of my life. Me and him did it together, that old drunk."

"Well how did you all come together, or have you known one another since the start?" Silas tentatively asked, his livening face shifting from man to man.

A tall and well muscled fellow who seemed in at least physical respects to be the leader of the troop began to speak for the group.

"It was about three harvests ago and I was looking into architectural work at a village that bordered the Faenne River. They had had a great year as far as turning crops was concerned but lacked the man power and beast power to operate a full sized regular mill. So what happened was, as I was looking around for help, seeing as I had it in my mind to build a water mill, and these folks, for reasons entirely of there own, had found their independent way to that particular village. None of them had all that much experience with fashioning water wheels, which was ultimately what that time and place called for, so I was forced to recruit out of the village pool of visitors and their normal work force in order to design and build one by the measurements.

The first one of them I found was trailing a horse that had escaped from his neighboring farm and he thought to himself that it might have come through that village. His experience came from a laboratory that his father had set up for the both of them to learn out of. When I explained the humongous wooden wheel that was to be powered by an artificial water fall he understood with a fair degree of ease the nature of the proportions, man against nature and all that. He said he had experience with labs and all kinds of crazy measurements and that he would like to help.

I was getting paid a pretty penny and I quickly settled on getting six other helpers, as that was the most I could afford to keep and pay, and as I found these guys one by one they all had a separate story to tell. They came from near and far almost as an act of fate to get together and help put that village on the map. If I remember correctly it was call Cuisete, and it was perfectly settled on a nice fresh water river with plenty of beautiful wild animals running about. It didn't seem like there was any other place that I would rather be."

One of the other inventors interjected feeling full of the unseen spirit that flowed around the camp. He could see no greater meaning for the time than to tell some meaningful tail by which he came to be with his fellows.

"Of course, I wasn't chasing any stray horses, and I did not exactly fall into line with the water wheel from the start. We live in a time of great and constant progress and I was to bring that sense of growth and reality to outlying towns and villages. Banking systems as we all by now might know them weren't in the same condition that they are today. A few years back it was all done by simply stockpiling money, if one had any, in their chests or cupboards at home but when I and my troupe came around we all set things to the future's way.

We had been hired by the newborn banking industry from Verlan to found trade and safe sites for people to securely store their wealth so as to boost the cultural revolution that we all already new was in place. It seemed to work, at least at first. As we built these banks and spread our philosophy far and wide, which had a huge impact on the commonplace demeanor of the lives we came in contact with, we were nearly plagued by foreigners who caught wind of our setup.

"Though everything was quite lucrative as it was, marauders came from far off lands and took bit by bit from the new system as and when they could. For us it seemed like our prosperity knew no bounds, that this new way of thinking had far larger implications than we had previously surmised, and that everyone would love to adopt our bold and well planned way of auditing, accounting, and saving wealth. It was during one of these very same staged robberies that these men here saved my life. They were working out the floor plans for their spinning water mill, which to all eventualities we all got working, when suddenly a group of unsavory fellows attacked the knew bank site, which was under the final stage of construction, but had still taken on business.

I was trapped in the bank with my troupe due to the weapons and mechanisms that the attackers used but fortunately they were outnumbered by this very crew of men who overran them with wood axes and construction tools. Once that was done, and it took a while for them to fall, they told me all about themselves and that they intended to complete some kind of civil engineering project for the people of this village, not that different from what I was already doing. Being the gentleman that I was, and in reward for their kind rescue, I offered to help fund their little demonstration of man over nature. I took funds from what it would cost to repair that bank that had seen a hammer or two royally taken against it and I invested it in their little project.

"Of course after I boarded suit with this bunch, and as I was already curious about fine mechanics, inventing, and mechanical art, they showed me the plans they had started. I saw them mostly for fun but I became sincerely interested after I reminisced about how it used to be my teenage years, dreaming up all sorts of new and wonderful ideas that would create a better society. It wasn't hard for me to get completely endorsed by them after that and I too became one of them with my thick sack of technical papers and a wishful futuristic ideal to boot. After that the bank didn't need my assistance any more, and as I had amassed a small fortune myself, I dedicated my time and efforts to creating at least some of our inventions from print to real life.

"It was just as we were finishing the water wheel that the courier came with news of the great and mysterious discovery of what we now call gunpowder, as that is all it will truly be used for with that king of ours, and about that time as we read into we formed a bond among us that can never truly be tested or broken. We decided on our own fate as we read the article that called for us to visit the sacred capital city and tour the convention as the inventors that we had truly dreamed ourselves to be. So having left our cultural revolution in the banking industry not on hold but in the care of equally capable hands we quibbled about our futures before very eventually setting out, which for my part is how you came to see me standing here. Anyone else have anything of importance or anything like that to add?"

Yet another of the spoke candidly, as though they had all struck a close chord to the soul with him and into the fire light his eyes gleamed bright with a soft spoken love as the night darkened. The man before them was by totality entwined with them and it now showed it on his face as they spotted him brightening from the truth and camaraderie that had been affected in him, and how he was stirring from the problems and discourse at hand.

"Of course, I'll speak, I have something to add." the words left his mouth with an acute vigor that encompassed them all before he continued. "For me it is hard to see how someone would want to ever, for even the slightest of reasons, try to take life from what we have here among ourselves. I couldn't help but imagine in my thoughts what may have come to pass had the killer we nearly all came across tonight pulled through his twisted victory. It triggered in me some great reaction as I too now remember just how close together we have com as a troupe and now as I ponder just what your friendships truly mean to me I am swept away by the good times we have had here and ahead of us. We may yet even take on another tonight-" He gestured to the mildly tattered Silas who had listened placidly throughout the duration of the remonstrances. "-if we are to make it whole through the twilight which I pray that we do. We have been challenged in the gardens of our minds by some ill force that would seek to destroy all the beauty which we have witnessed amongst one another and in the times we have spent together.

Though it pains me to say it I believe that we have encountered in this man, or whomever, those forces which we so fear and admonish so that we might live with total disregard for our own freedom and instead pursue some way out and from them. These forces must have a source as there can never truly be the crimes themselves ignorant of the reality that they are pursuant to. I say that now in this forest we, as friends, must acknowledge that we are in need of the strength of the bonds we have created among one another in order to truly survive this night. The spiritual way that we have made for ourselves in now in jeopardy as this night and dark time wears on and it falls to us to persevere. I will always remember the great things that we have accomplished together, from that enormous water wheel to all the little inventions that we have worked out and I must say that I would never allow that to draw to an end tonight. From the time that the Courier came with news of blasting powder I knew that our futures together would be nothing other than one filled with mirth and even the occasional stroke of genius, and I now am prouder than ever, as we near the first watch, to call you all my truest and surviving family."

As Silas sat entranced there listening to this man go on about his wants for his group of friends he couldn't help but be amazed in some small and inviting way. The fire was dwindling and crackling as his eyes drooped slightly. One of the men added a large nest of bramble to its hungry flames as it stoked itself to life. It seemed as though everything in the world had faded to make way for the care of the people he had found and he hoped secretly, though he hadn't told them that he had at first spied on them, they would retain a wonderful friendship wherever they all were pushed or pulled. One of them drew a large flask and bottle of wine from his sack so as to make the environment all the merrier.

He passed it around the fire and as he did its sweet yet pungent odor began to waft through to all their senses causing their shifting minds and senses to sharpen for its undue taste. The same man who had produced the wine set himself about to pitching tent in the growing firelight. At first he set apart some solid wooden poles and posts in the dirt which he retrieved from several packs at once, but only after having taken more than his fair swig of the cheap alcoholic beverage that had begun to enliven and enlighten him to the festivities. Sprucing up a spot in the wood not to far from the beacon of camp he pulled a tough green canvas that had been cleverly entwined with leather over the poles that had by now been planted into the forest floor by several helping hands.

After the large accommodating abode had been fully set he began the slow and steady transfer of everyone's belonging into the cover he had established, thinking to himself that everything fragile would survive the night in the off chance that it might begin to rain.

"Let's all gather some fire wood" Silas said pointedly, to keep his wine sweetened mind moving. "It will keep us going through the night should the fire you've all created break down and die out before the night is through. God knows that after all you've told me of yourselves we'd hate to be out witted by something as devoid as mere darkness."

"All right, we will do just that" said one of the quieter men. "It should take five of us and then three of us will remain here so as to see that we are not out flanked for our own sleeping site."

As the man who spoke finished off the last of the beverage, three others beside he and Silas stood to seize from the darkness as much easy burning wood as they thought might last them through until dawn. They all moved rather purposefully and as a group so as to stay safe with numbers toward the edge of the circle of light and then as they moved into the dark Silas spoke so as to gain a greater insight on their presence with one another.

"So if you are all headed for Verlan how then are you all in a position so far from the roads that lead there?"

The man responded while sniffing the air as if to catch the scent of good burning wood on the air. All he caught instead was the well worn and moist aroma of moss growing on fallen trees that were still quite moist from whatever wet spell had last beset them.

"Highway men were the reason mostly, we thought it best to avoid them and in doing so we had to make the difficult decision to stay clear of the roads for the most part. We are not akin to being lost and we certainly would not want to end up stranded, but for its own sake the little bit of adventure we encountered was well worth the trouble."

He looked skyward with a forlorn sense of foreboding as though Silas had stumbled across the secret meaning of their being out here and the man was reluctant to relinquish it. But for him, no matter, as he seemed totally at peace with himself, barely escaping the vindictive fear of being left alone, or even together, in the sheer unparalleled dank world. Their spirits all brightened as the stars poked through the forest canopy bit by bit.

"Yep," he continued forlornly, "we never can stay too safe. We have heard reports about the terrible and humiliating things that some of these cold hearted marauders that people have encountered have thought to do to real live travelers. Being out here for us has been the good long hard chance to sort ourselves out in a safe way, sticking to our bearings so to speak. We've traveled by the way of the sun in the day, citing its direction and every night we take our heading by starlight, though not that many of us know much about all that sort of thing."

He stopped speaking and coolly drew his breath to calm what to him had been a climactic few moments.

"How do you expect you'll fare in Verlan with all the sentiments going around about the possible war?" Silas asked as their collective footfalls all moved further into the night.

The man responded with a flighty sense of kempt bravery.

"I expect we'll get called on just like everyone else to play our equal part. There probably won't be sentiment enough to force us to fight outright for his majesty," he said with much scorn, "but I know that our working brilliance will be put to use inventing every engine that the mind has conceived of for this little bit of history, whatever it may yield."

The group had now fully detached from the guiding and warm light that was just behind them and now bent over hunched picking through the dry sticks and logs that beckoned for their calling. It was a matter of time before their arms all loaded up, shored against the chill winds that had now picked over them, with bundles of fuel that they clung to with a sense of elated purpose.

For them the best of this night was still yet upon them and they worked tirelessly. Before a few minutes had passed they had accomplished what they had set out to do and warily stumbled through the darkness back to camp.

The polite conversation that Silas had picked up on continued without much ado, as with full chests and arms of burning wood, as they trooped into the firelight. Several of the men grunted under the taxing exertion that it took to dump the wood before they briefly debated going out for a second lot. Having decided against it everyone present settled back into tenement with one another as comfort.

The three who had been left to guard dropped there inquiring direct looks and abandoned post to see what else time and the night would bring on, laughing heartily as they overheard all the voices of their comrades. And now it appeared that the universe had fallen to sleep in the gentle lull of the rocking world. The trees themselves bent and swayed in a shrill breeze over head of the camp, foliage and free living wild life. Little birds had cast their lot and left their chirping for the bright light of day and now instead sought the comfort of the nest as did the inventors and their kind.

Silas listened intently above the cackle of the flames and the bright embers that they eschewed for the tell tale signs of critters and the silent life that they led, but could only find shifting currents in his mental self as he among his fellows relaxed and began to doze lazily into the dark welcome that sleep offered. And as his consciousness finally gave leave for rest he could hear the watchmen sorting themselves out and knew only that he would awake again before this night was through. Everyone had peacefully claimed their beds and now waited comfortably for morning, certain that among friends all could only be well. The clouds gracefully parted and a solitary dignified moon shone through to ground, but only one was awake to see its lasting glory.

As Silas dreamed he could only relive in his mind the horrid dilemma that had claimed the life of his beloved Mary, and his mind, cringing and twisting in the emptiness, trying every lot available to it to claim the ground that he himself was innocent, that he could somehow take her back from the cold clawing grip of death. His body through the hours worked up a heated sweat with his eyes wringing back in his head searching the depths of gray for some meaning to it all, for the finality of purpose. He could no more answer the question of why she had died than of why he was alive in the first place. And now it seemed an unprecedented occurrence had taken hold in his mind as his lively body writhed in the green cloak that he slept beneath.

It called out to him, but what it was he could not be sure. From the murky depths he could sense it and even became entwined with it, however it only served to madden him further in his unkempt slumber, agonizing his very spirit, demanding countenance.

His breathing now labored and halting fully weighed him down and it left him after some time of its supple pull, calling him no longer. A hand shook him and he awoke in the night sitting up abruptly before realizing that he had fully come to.

"It's your turn for watch." a gruff voice said before a shadowy figure moved away.

But Silas' mind only, as it had some time before, cleansed itself with one clear wipe before leaving him vacant and apart. Despite that unfortunate happening he still kept his wits about him enough to resume the watch, and he did so marveling at the serenity of the passing night.

Chapter Eight

The candle light flickered in the enormous bed chamber as a bleary eyed man lay sleeping fruitfully in the gentle flicker of its never ending glow. Around the room were neat stacks of clothing punctuated by the various sets of non ornamental furniture. There were bright purples and robes sewn with gold as the man's stock in cloth declared him, for itself, to be a member of the extremely wealthy. A cool draft form the mortar and stone wall swiftly crossed the room stealing away at its warmth and driving the sleeping figure to shift slightly beneath the furs and sheets that he had wrapped himself in to stay well and warm throughout the long and bitter cold night. He slowly woke in place as morning had come and a great new day had beckoned for him to see for himself what lay ahead.

A light rapping on the door jerked him to full wakefulness and he hopped out of bed as quickly as possible so as to suggest that he had been fully breathing and conscious from the time that the first light of dawn had crept across the city and surrounding fields. His strong and agile form shot a hand across to a bed stand and it retrieved a crown which he firmly set atop his clean hair, waiting momentarily to see if the rapping had gone and left. He suffered no such luck. The rapping became a full fledged knocking from the knuckles as the man just outside the door in the long stone corridor became a little impatient. He sat on the news of recent progress and was desperate to let the king know in order to gain even a slightly higher status.

The king looked around, this time a little peeved. The room held a large wooden wardrobe and he eyed it with a peculiar caution as getting up to open it would mean the full start of a brand new day. His face held weight, from his having just awoken, and that weight added the look of years in favor of youth as it silently lulled him to go back to sleep. He refused ardently and instead popped over to the wardrobe and opened it to reach in side, pulling from it a graceful warmly cloak, one of his best knit, that was threaded with lively buoyant colors and now showed then with resolution in the bold candle light.

Wrapping himself in it he then bounded over to the door and opened it, knowing full well what would be awaiting him. As the door slowly turned on its hinges the kings heart skipped a beat to regain its rhythm as life now seemed to demand his more serious concerns. He felt as though there never was enough for him prove. He needed those moments, when people secretly saw him and thought to themselves, 'what is this man?', for they were his salve and always lightened his mind. He told himself that there was little standing between himself, his naked ambition, and history, as he reached across the hearth and into the hall to clap the man who stood before him on the back. In a lighter mood he spoke kindly, seeing the belligerent alarm on Abner's features.

Today, like any other, the king would have spent mulling over the grand and wild possibilities of his kingly affairs, but it was not to be. Abner, a more slender figure than anything else, had a deciduous bend that always seemed to get the better of his silhouette. It caused him lean and gave off an air of impromptu and sly aggrandizement that he never meant to exude. He was forgiven of it, always, but on this particular morning it got to the king in a little more personal sense, as he felt a bit on the ridiculous side, wearing one of his favorite cloaks over his pajamas.

While sending his hand forward to the king with a tied bundle of news letters Abner swayed under the hearty slap his back received.

"Good morning to you!" said the king, masking the embarrassment of his partial nakedness.

"And a great morning it is, sir." Abner responded politely. "There is a lot to bring you up to speed on and its here in these reports." He gestured with his thin empty hand to the jumble of papers held out before him.

"At a cursory glance, what have we on our plates this morning?" said king Roger with a hint of embrace.

"Well for a start we have news from the far north and it seems that a thick and unrelenting fog has consumed the lands there. The animals have all but disappeared and the ones that remain seem to have been...changed...by it. However every loss is not without its victory as I know how much you had looked forward to the eventual prospect of marching in on those lands. It seems that late in the night our experimental researchers endured some type of resounding success. They are said to have-"

He was cut short by the king who endeavored now to fully clothe.

"I'm sure I will read all about it" he said pleasantly, "but for now I must dress."

Roger took hold of the stack of papers and glanced strongly into Abner's eyes as if to reassure him his trust before turning assuredly into his bed chambers once again, shutting the door calmly. Walking tall and with a newer sense of purpose gained from reports in hand he studied the chamber before assessing his options. There was a large maple chest at the foot of his bed that had flowers and vines ornately carved into it. It was accommodating enough to fit a grown man or woman inside and he made for it slowly, considering whether or not to read into the information in hand.

Knowing full well instead that he would get dressed and then proceed to read before going off to his chambers of council he reached the chest and set the thick stack of papers on the bed, opening the chest only to rifle through it. It was a pity putting the papers on the bed, he thought, seeing as the desk was so very nearly within arms reach, but he let the notions pass and dug into the folded mound of clothing before him. As he pulled a silken white under shirt and a beautifully embroidered over shirt from the wide wooden chest he tossed them onto the bed. He was barely able to concentrate and his eyes searched quickly with a sense of resonant finesse for matching velvet pants that were a dark forest green that spoke well of the seasons and gave silent tidings of the wild. His mind was preoccupied with the notion of the reports sitting just in front of him and he secretly swore to himself to read them immediately after having made progress with his dress.

Eying the papers with a grinning peculiarity he rushed around to the side of his bed and tore away his night clothes, all woven of off-white and cotton, and then sat himself upon the bed. He had become so interested in the news that he completely and for the moment skipped getting dressed and sat on the bed in the near nude. The king grabbed at the fat package of parchment and pulled them to his face, pouring voraciously over them for any of the many signs that might grant him some certain victory either at home or even abroad. The paper he first began to read was a little on the weather torn side and wrinkled as it looked as though it had survived a rainstorm. It read in a large and winding scrawl:

Dear king and ruling council, I write this message now under extreme duress for I know not what weirdness has befallen me and these lands in my simple quest for answers. I started out along the northerly ridge as was requested by the scouting commission and I knew strongly in my heart that my report would be subject to the liturgy of Hector himself and even the wise hands of many others, you included. All had faired well. My mission as simply stated was to range as far north as weather and conditions would allow for and to make a boldly accurate assessment of the land's maneuverability as well as its new worth as it had been some ages since any of our clever horseman had trod its lay. I found initially that all was well and there appeared no opposition to our marching campaign to move through and then swing east for a more livid scenario of warfare. I was told to look out for this and gain a true lay of the land to determine how many marching weeks it would take to reach Dorshen in the east from this place. I found that it would take three at least or four at most from most up to date ranging estimates. However the next set of my instructions were to outline a map as far to the north, as previously stated, that would serve as a guide to annexation of greater territory. My findings were severe in the most grave of natures. I encountered ruins in the harsh cold of a city that once stood proud and I wrote down its coordinates to help in our bearings. Altogether the ride on horse back took one and one half weeks at a steady trot interloped with whatever gallop could be sustained. From the end of the ridge northwards I traveled following the trail that already lay before me. It was a large dirt road that passed through the base of a large mountain set among its kindred and picked up next to a river. I carried on next to the river for over three days as it must have been many dozens of miles in length until I began to stumble across what looked like ruins scattered throughout the land. There was a large statue of a man in robes with a tablet in a fort atop a large steep hill that I came across in the passing weeks. Around that time there was a split in the road that lead in three directions that all appeared to be traveling in a northerly direction. I took the road to the far left and that decision availed me much when you finally come to see the astounding information that I uncovered. Along that road, which I traveled for the remaining time of my journey I made the assessment that a menacing fog made further continuation of exploration incontrovertibly impossible. This fog was thick and viscous and before long traveling in it I found a city that at first glance it seemed to set it self upon. After looking through it I found that the bricks had been crumbled by weather, which I took to mean that the fog had some ill type of power. I found after some searching for small game to eat that this very same environment had driven the beasts of that place mad. The hare that I eventually did capture had morphed itself some foul way to have blood red eyes and an elongated paw with thin sharp claws. Perhaps, I thought, this fog has changed in some large part the evolution of the wildlife there and it seemed to me a great truth as I at length found that other species had be driven to madness and been morphed through similar instances.

The beasts that I found most affected were wild and completely feral. A creature emerged which I found to be by totality completely unlike anything I had ever in my life seen before, and I tell you honestly, as the veteran that I am I have seen plenty. It wasn't altogether that large but instead about the size of a large wolf, but far stronger and lither. It had wings and muscles that were powerful and leathery and there seemed to be a great many of them. They behaved savagely to one another in groups and it was about the time that I had come across them that I had deemed it safest to turn back. Among the thoughts that had poured through my brain, being gnashed to death by their razor sharp claws and fangs was among them. With its great jaw and brown faded green skin I witnessed one kill. It flew in from on high and slew a cougar like it was a play thing before dragging it back to its lair to eat. I should think that if ever we come to here again we might harness the power of these creatures and the others like them that I had witnessed as it would surely make us an unbeatable force.

But finally, the reason I left was the apparitions. I know that I saw these things. I did not see the full breadth of the city of ruins as it was far too large and I knew for myself that it held only nightmares. I became deathly afraid of these wisps of spirits that I had very nearly encountered. The closer I seemed to come to them the more they seemed to sap away at my life force itself. They brought a terrible soulless cold with them and upon finding them the very roots of my bravery lay shaken. They showed me in my minds eye a sickening lonely fate of nothingness and death. Apart from traveling directly to the city of ruins my findings remain true. We would be able to make the march through the outlying north and we would be able to annex it. We have little to fear from the people and places of this stretch of land but I do not recommend traveling to far off course.

Yours Sincerely,

Jethro

The letter had ended and the king was filled with more questions than he could count. What were these creatures and what could be forcing them and the wisps to behave so dementedly? Thoughts of grandeur and madness ran through his mind and he determined for himself that if what Jethro had said had any truth to it than for the sake of wisdom and morale, no matter how curious he became, it would be best to invest his royal forces in other ventures.

Rising from the bed he tossed the papers aside knowing that Abner was in all probability still waiting outside of his door to escort him either to the dining hall or to his council chambers. Abner had a certain loyalty to him that even the king dared never to challenge, as he had consigned himself to the best wishes of his kingdom. Having never truly found fault with the man, the king, for his manners sake, decided to skip reading any of the other reports for the time being and hurry to finishing getting prepared for the hours to come. He knew that he would have enough to do for the rest of the day and that if he spared time in the morning he could read another report, or just learn about them first hand from his planning committee. He pulled the shirt that had been resting on the bed over his head, doggedly avoiding the crown, and hastily put the matching pants on. Slipping his feet into the comfortable shoes he had at last finished dressing.

In full force he made to leave the bedroom for the hall after having snuffed the candle out in one smooth stroke. It went out in a puff off smoke and smelled of oil and wax as the last rays of light fell from the room. He had already opened the door moments prior and, as his stomach rumbled in due kind for nourishment, he saw the shadow of Abner patiently flickering in the corridor. The passageway itself in which the patient working assistant waited was fairly long and wide, lit by candles that were fairly large and tucked away into periodic alcoves that seemed to materialize every so often down the hall. This section of the palace was well kept and was clearly part of a much larger whole. Roger entered the walk space looking fondly onto an enlivening fur carpet that still held the shape of the bear pelt it had been taken from. A cold front of air caused the two of them to shift a little in their clothing as they began to walk step by step together, the king holding firmly in his grasp the morning reports that he had received, and it was of this that he began to speak brusquely.

"The report that I had time to read was nothing short of amazing" said Roger with a cool vigilance, his voice resounding and echoing. "It spoke of the north as though it had been beset by some all seeing demon, giving and taking, directing and tracking free life at its will. And to think! I had never thought that brand of lunacy possible, but this Jethro who wrote the field report, what sanity does he have? What caution does our court hold over him?"

"Him, sir?" responded the assistant inquiringly, "He has over eleven campaign years with our forces, one of the most thorough scouts that we have to offer. His approach to his work has always been nothing short of sheer honesty and loyalty. I see no inconsistency with his findings or right to preach them, but on the whole it does make one pause to wonder. Just what forces are we tangling ourselves with as we pursue this most noble and gainful motion of war?"

"A good thought, but as I see it, with the powers that we have ourselves to invest it is not ourselves that should be worried. The sheer unrestricted power of what those creatures might hold, however, should still be kept in firm consideration."

"True enough, king." They had neared the end of the hallway and were about to have to make one turn of two possible choices. "Will we head toward the dining hall or are you taken away enough by the morning's news to head straight into council?"

"You should know better of me by now," the king said chidingly. But Abner only soured with the complexity of Roger's insinuation. "I will, of course, head to the council chambers. You may escort me there but be sure that you return with my breakfast, I can't be kept waiting to long."

They turned right down a new hall which was significantly warmer for some strange reason, and well lit. They headed off into the labyrinth of corridors making headway toward the room that would hold the fate of the kingdom if all went as King Roger planned. Geoff's weathered eyes glowed with a warm light, showing his enormous capacity and love for his work.

"I will do as you requested. Expect the finest, sir, that is all that I can offer. Did you read the great news?"

"What news was that? I still haven't-"

"I tried to tell you earlier! In the depths of last night our research team found a chemical mechanism that seemed to exponentially amplify the explosive force of our recent discovery blasting powder."

"Can that be for real?" The king was visibly agitated to exuberance by his alarming and growing enthusiasm.

"Of course, and as I see things that is something that you should attend to at the next possible moment. Who knows what they will come up with next?"

"You speak bravely Abner and I admire that in you. However, a moments thought would have us do otherwise and bide our time in the shadows, and although that's not something that I have ever grown fond of doing it might be the proper course of action. Remember who it is we are dealing with. These great thinkers are dealing with high strung emotions and the very prospect of war has through my hand forced them to come up with the very notion of all applicable explosives, and you think for a second that they would be safe to hang around? They all have minds of their own, very distinct minds and they wouldn't for even a minute let anyone forget that fact. No, we will wait until we have a firmer grasp of the topic at hand for those men are as dangerous as any and all work for different causes, though I suppose it all works for me in the end."

Abner's lips curled in tight expectation and his eyes flickered for a moment as they had taken on a new perspective, one that seemed to assert wisdom.

"Well for the moment I would suggest reading their report for the court, sir, as I know that it contains a great deal more on the subject of how they made the wonderful discoveries that they made. It simply suggests that by mixing amounts of saltpeter, sulfur, and other elements, this powerful mixture could break walls and bend men's wills." And then he added sardonically, "Nothing to be alarmed about. Nothing at all."

But by then they had reached in synchronized step the spacious and well hewn walls of the recently reactivated war council chambers that were cut off from the rest of the palace with the exception of the one corridor that they had taken to reach it. Initially the palace designer's had made things that way thinking that the better part of its defense lay in its solitude but of late the king rued the notion wishing instead that it had been a more central aperture. It ultimately made little difference to Roger, who had become too swept up in other things to worry about the theatrics of trivialities. And with that thought he entered the room where he breathed a short breath of congruence before turning to address the small group of strategists that had worked throughout the night as the hanging threat of war drew those who were endowed enough to a full cycling shift of duty. The door closed behind him and Abner scampered off to fetch breakfast while the rising sun outside of the window shot rays of hope in through to everyone's beleaguered eyes. Abner rounded the hall and nearly ran smack into the Praetor whose hands were folded across his abdomen into his sleeves interlocking with one another.

The Praetor's reassuring voice emanated subtly from his face which dripped with an unforeseen cunning.

"I couldn't help but over hear your conversation with our beloved Roger."

"S- Sir," Abner stammered, his wide eyes fixing themselves on the powerful man before him, his speech crackling with a wanting that could not be consummated, "What do your services require of me?"

The Praetor smiled, looking softly down into the other's keen and leering half grin.

"Nothing but a moment of our time."

Chapter Nine

"I don't know who I can trust." The words blurted themselves from the king's mouth and the four man strategy unit that occupied the room looked on firmly, struggling to keep control of themselves, wanting not to appear to aghast. Sameus, a thinning man with a sharp wit converged on him, making as if to lock the door behind the king with a simple bar if it were at all necessary.

"Whatever do you mean?"

With a ghostly chill running round him his veins seemed to cool, offering a small time for him to think.

"The time has come to talk. I sense that something is amiss." said the king. The ambition had been drained from him and the courageous obstinacy that he usually carried about him had dimmed and dulled.

The others in the room were shocked but held their stature.

"That's news to us." they stifled a short laugh. "What could possibly be the problem?"

"I see now more clearly than ever in my mind's eye that something would consider that my life is forfeit, and though I noticed it I was sure to make no mention of it to anyone except until now. It was like the man was watching me somehow, as though he was waiting and did not quite know what to look for. And had I been anyone else I might not have noticed it. I should make mention of it to my Praetor at once."

At the mention of the Praetor the others in the room with the king seemed to shrink and wince all at once, sensing some rue from the notion of his presence, or maybe even the very absence. The king had dried a little and was struggling to understand himself as much as anyone was. It was a bold statement that he had made and he was not yet perfectly sure where it had come from.

But the suspicion in him reigned supreme.

That little bit of paranoia that was stuck in him like a splinter now dominated his once calm mind. These thoughts had come to him over the last few days and up until now this morning he had been distracted from them. That was until he had noticed it. It seemed to Roger that Abner had be daring at some sort of waiting game of sorts, that he had tried to run up his loyalty as though it were some type of tab. Roger had seen that it him for a brief few dwindling moments that had lasted a hair of a second, but when he did see it he recognized it as an immediate threat. Roger supposed that he had well placed his trust in his Praetor, who had seen only good done to him with rare occasion, and now wanted after his trust and council. Geoff had watched his steps too carefully, had bided the time in between his words too often, and had at last given himself off in a manner that suggested that he might be watching after the king's step for some twist of fortune.

But that had not been the only thing that had tipped his mental scales. He saw over the course of the last few days, as he remembered back, that a scant few of the guards had seemed to watch after his steps with an awkward longing, as if they too were in on this sneaky plot of sobriety to maintain appearances. He was alone in his certainty for now and at the very least cocksure that everyone in his presence for the moment could be trusted with this bit of information on his crutched and stretched emotional crooning. He stopped his stately frame for a minute's rest as his heaving chest sucked in air and his blunt eyes swiveled about the room. He might be paranoid, he might be tilted, but at the very least he would be aware should anything new pioneer him toward that shadow that he could only and ever sense looming over him.

Struggling to see all the little weights and gears that had forced him to begin to reach these conclusions he forced his mind to begin anew with a definite clarity of his memories and the hope that in the midst of that muddled haystack the truth would more readily present itself. The jester continued his juggling and one man play, but he always held that greasy hard grin. It couldn't be him, he thought, nothing about him save for the usual had any relevant intercourse with the situation at hand. Perhaps then members of the court who frolicked at the frays of his robes, openly calling for the king's resolutions, but in ready secret condemning them? His picture perfect mind flipped through their preening faces like a book, but it was all no use.

It was madness and a waste. In the brief fraction of a second that it had taken him to see these thoughts the group he was now with had broken down to a quieted humdrum, unsure of whether to accept Roger's pleas at face value or whether something truly deeper was at work writhing its way out of the palms of their hands.

Sameus, Gren, and Ratchet seemed ready to proceed with the day as previously planned but still held their tact as they could see the whiteness on the king's face and the subtle shift in his breath. Jemm reset his tunic in to its neat frocks before assuming the role of the avid persecutor, though caution was still evident on him.

"How will we stop it, then, if some cruel and mischievous plot does exist?" he silently shouted. "We must check faces and facts at tonight's feast, at the very least, and for now we'll know from Roger what has made us in our fortress of solitude so worried of an ingrate who might seek to destroy him. We certainly have better things to worry about, but nothing greater. We all know that a rearing beast without its head is no beast at all and that if we were to lose our dear king in any untimely fashion we would all pay the price for it, large or small." His fists had begun to clench and unclench with an uneasy fortitude while he spoke, as if what he said could have no small part in their doings.

"You are right, as ever," said Ratchet coolly, his rough voice scratching itself out. "But all that we are going off of hear is a far sight less even than hearsay. It _seems_ to the king that someone wants to belt him and it _seems_ that all these small signs point to it, but for the life of him I doubt that he can provide us with anything of solid proof. I say that for the time being we take everything into consideration and contact Hector. He would know exactly how to deal with this brand of madness. For now, though, all we are acting on are what-ifs, and that is not a sound place to be."

Gren, warming to the idea that something might truly be selflessly out to get the king began to shift in place, nervous that the crimes might extend beyond the realm of the king and somehow include him.

"I'm with Jemm on this one. We are fortunate that tonight is the night that the royal court and palace, along with his graces the king, is hosting the great thing. The king's fear aside it would have been a good enough opportunity on its own to test the depths of the waters, so to speak. We must keep a strong and wary eye out for any signs of true and unfettered disloyalty and aggression against his throne. It would have been the safest thing to have done anyway. Thanks to the king's wise reminder we will have the chance this evening."

They all came to the dawning agreement that in the interest of safety, no matter that the odds of any true uprising against the crown was dependent on the near loony yet sharp wit of the disgruntled king, that this night they would all keep in sight what they could to thwart any who were disingenuous. They stopped their conversation for a time and the king was let to know by the aggrieved looks and quickening demeanors that he would be protected by no less than their best and brightest efforts. But for them all, the day had to continue and after a minute's disconcerting silence they tried to move on, though the morning had been interrupted and disjointed. Gren, who seemed least affected by the entirety of the ordeal, spoke first, his bristling form's shadow standing starkly in the moving and warm light of the sun.

Without mentioning it they all, the king included, dismissed the ordeal as an acute bit of paranoia, feeling safer in the indirect thought that no one in the wide world could be so cruel and unforgiving as to end any man's life in that very room. Considering their options for the day they began to talk in tones about the great new potential of their blasting powder, and the curious manner in which it had been discovered in the first place. Apparently, and to all vices, a member of the court, after having been amply influenced by a certain preening Praetor to set about concoctions that called for the addition of sulfur and other seemingly meaningless elemental minerals, claimed to have seen some great blazing light in his mind before stumbling headlong into the new formula for blasting powder.

The Praetor, who had only placed his inquiries with the man that very day, was overjoyed. To say the least for all involved that was a state in which the Praetor had seldom been encountered and he ordered the immediate development of research into the miraculous grainy powder. It was some time before any progress was made and they were now astounded by the simple fact that the world had nearly shifted in its axis since then. The Praetor had already informed the king and the Speaker of Engar, the only two he was certain would need to know, that Dorshen had in fact made the same discovery recently and before hand, much to all his political ironies. The pair of them took the news in their own mixed ways. The king, of course, was ablaze with his own anger, and the Speaker had little to say other than it must be that day in the universe, whose great mystery must not be lost on us all.

Then the matter of a newer sword came to the forefront of their debates, and their faces became all alight and bodies were speaking with a new happiness, like children who had learned of a new present for themselves.

Gren, wearing a short blue button up coat plucked at it and adjusted it around his torso, showing an aura of pride and preparedness.

"So in the reports from the alchemical laboratories they as much as verified that sulfur itself is a reactive agent, but the claims of the Praetor, that it could somehow remake steel for our weapons, has gone unproven. In talking with the workers stationed on this project I have determined that it was probably misinformation which through no tragedy of our own, or anybody that we would need to worry about, came to the Praetor's ears."

"Of course," said the king to appease," the Praetor had only ever said that he had picked that little bit of information up after having worked it out of one of his many friends, in a manner of speaking, that came from Dosrhen. He as much as said that the person who told him came with the information in order to defect and gain a charge of loyalty from our system before nationalizing into our country."

Jemm, looking more suspicious by the minute, did not seem to be so accepting of this information.

"This is the clearest case of the blind leading the blind and whatever he said that must have set the Praetor of is of little consequence hear. What matters now is whether or not that information is accurate, and for myself I doubt that it is. However we know for a fact that it will take many moons of experimenting before we can come up with a certain answer to that question. We should at least today consider that the information was accidentally planted their by someone who meant no harm and was only doing what he thought best for himself, based on hearsay."

"I don't know," said Ratchet cautiously, "the Praetor is almost always accurate with his information no matter how he gains it and this should by all rights be considered no exception. When have we known him to truly err? It seems to me that in all this he is not as far in the dark as we may think him to be. What if, for instance, he picked this news up in a trade deal and cleverly thought to tell us otherwise to make sure that relations stabilize. It does not sound that absurd and I say for the sake of fair reasoning that we at least consider it, o king."

"Sure, sure," was the kings surly response. He was stroking at his chin, with a far away look, as though he were merely soaking it all in before he would even be aloud to speak.

Then came a minor shock as the king spoke again, in near total agreement with them.

"I think that you are right, Ratchet. I think, as you so politely stated, that he Praetor is a man of his own mind and that his plans, in this interest, extend far beyond the simple notion of an improved sword for a war ready battle group. I trust him still, but I can see now that his information may be skewered as the lens of sight that he is operating out of might be clouded to us, and clear to him. I've always known him to take things into his own hands and this incident has all the signs of that very clause."

Ratchet's eyes widened a little bit as his brow furrowed out from hearing the king's ramblings. He began to stack maps in clear order at a waist high and decidedly ornate table, flicking through them looking for pictures and drawings of places that were rich in structured lands and militarily predisposed to the sure victory that the king was after. The parchments rustled together and from his manner every one deduced that he wanted to at least get on with the mornings truer meetings before time waned into the afternoon.

"Do you think then, o gracious king," said Ratchet with a certain amount of overdue sarcasm, "that this fog of lens will lead to an agreement between the peoples of Dorshen and Engar's trusted military? What if, and humor me here, for whatever reason that may be why the Praetor arranges trade deals? That in and of itself would make a swift war a near impossibility! We'd have to choose, and carefully, I might add, a newer and clearer target. The nobles would never allow or sustain a war effort that crossed the trade boundaries. If we begin any bartering with them at all the noblemen will all recognize it as an offering of peace, and they know that to backstab or blindside that offering would undermine the very purpose and existence of Engar. We are not that strapped for war! They will see it-"

"I think you may be right." said the king, interjecting, "The Praetor would stand to make a fair sized profit from the single handed prevention of war between we two states. However, when we arrive at the bottom of that barrel, and we eventually must, I will weigh in everything considered and make the decision that must be made."

Sameus, after having listened to what they said with a decent self collection looked from the king to Ratchet, and then toward the king again.

"I do not know." he said, "What if, in the worst of all outcomes, Dorshen has a greater military presence than we might have at first gauged? What if they discovered something more exciting and liberating for the battlefield than we possibly could have imagined-"

"Like what?" interdicted the king amidst murmurs.

"-like an engine of fog that shrouds the battle field. And suppose for an instant that it functions off of sulfur or some other sulfuric component, and the Praetor, knowing little of it but being suckered into trade agreements with them, which we all necessarily saw coming, has merely stumbled into a trap? It's safe to assume that he got the information on sulfur from a source that did not have the best intentions of Engar at heart, despite all appearances, and that source, whether from Dorshen or otherwise, seeks to retain the capability to dismantle that which he chooses. That might even be our government, but I don't know."

As he had barely finished talking a knock came at the door and king spun toward it to open it, only to find that it was Abner with his breakfast of poached egg and well cooked steak. He was late and Roger was more than a little annoyed that it had taken all that time to bring him his simple breakfast. As the king looked over his face with more than a cursory glance to interpret what the hold up might have been he saw nothing of the conversation that had lasted for the better part of the morning between Abner and the Praetor.

The Praetor had made one simple and yet ever demanding request of him. That term was that he look after the king for his own safety and report anything frightening or anomalous directly to him at the first manageable opportunity. Beyond this he also made a simple mental list of what he had called oddities in the kings behavior and said that these unusualness's were becoming more frequent and dangerous in the man which included the notion that anyone or someone might be after his life. As a matter of course Abner obliged as he was far too unfit to reject any proposal that the strong minded and heady Praetor could have made. And now, as he watched the king search his face over and again for signs of whatever it might be that he was looking for he also recalled the vow of service through silence that he took to the austere Praetor as it reverberated in his cool mind.

The king saw nothing and Abner glanced him over keeping a lean ear and eye out for what might be the kings own suffering and torment at the hands of his hypothesized or supposed confusion. He kept in his thoughts the names and faces of everyone in the room, eager to report back as soon as possible, residing in the surety that all harms he might facilitate would surely be out weighed by the good.

The king dove into his morning course as he accepted it from the cold wrenching hands of the man before him. After an impossibly long second he realized that Abner must still have the drink on his person or not at all. Fortunately, the assistant saw the greedy, leering look in Roger's searching gaze and produced a flask of ale that would be enough for at least two people and forked it over, noting everything that he saw and did. After breakfast had been delivered the door shut as stolidly as it had opened and Abner scampered off down the corridor to whatever it was the king was sure that he needed to do or get done.

The king finished his meal briskly amid glances of jealousy from his men and shoved the plate onto the corner of the table. He rummaged around the room until he found a small clothe and with it he wiped the bread crumbs from his mouth and lips, savoring the last juicy bits of nourishment. Tossing the cloth aside he took on a new air, trying to look fit and focused, but failing and looking instead as though he had woken up with fate's cruel comic grimace.

"Right then, now that I've added a bit to my rotund and had a few brief but invaluable minutes to think I can finally see what has moved you in some small part. As one of you so capably perceived, if we piece together all the components of the puzzle before us, the fog and the sulfur as well as any goings on behind my authoritative rule from the Praetor I think, as you might, that Dorshen will present a much more frightening target than at first said. What we do know, that their government is slow and plodding, yet supple and decisive, has not eluded us in our considerations. It's the maybes that are controlling our hands at this time. We must decide now. Shall we take Dorshen to war? Or shall we justly abide and seek out a more worthy target. What could all this mean? Is there a magic afoot with this new fog and distortion of god's great creations, assuming that information is even reliable, and I'm certain it is. What, in this fair time, should we challenge?"

After the king's short interlude Sameus pulled enough chairs away from the table and distributed them among everyone in the room. They were all glad and graciously accepted the seating, placing the chairs around the center of the room in a small impromptu circle that looked more like a distorted square. Now, gladly on their rears, the world seemed like a better place, one full of more options and at least the ardent wisdom of choice.

Chapter Ten

"There is always Telor'an," spoke the gritty voice of Gren. He seemed disaffected, as if settling for any other namesake or land beside Dorshen would be akin to taking second prize in the great race. Pawning his uncertainties off, he continued in his on demeanor. "And if we cannot crack the nut of Dorshen those lands will suffice. I don't know much about them but it seems to me that I know enough. They are a gaudy dictatorship that overtaxes the poor and pitiful, and the thought of revolution is already stirring with in their borders. It would only be right of us to tip the scales of direct conflict and liberate them from what may be."

The king, not liking the thought of losing the Dorshen debate any more than the others, or more than he already had, gave a curt nod of approval as they began to look into the sheer scope of the possibilities that lay before them. From their seats they all projected an aura of vast construct and premonition, as though any thing that they came in contact with might seem so fragile and far away in form. They were men of power in this dark hour of planning, and they needed all of the presence that they could muster. The issues that they dealt with, the fog, and the mysterious counterfeits of truth that seemed now so obvious on the Praetor's part, would have been enough to weigh any normal man down and bog his mental prudence, but not these dour folk.

"I don't think that Telor'an would be a capture worth the fight." said Jemm from his seat. "As you said, it is near on the verge of anarchy as it is and it might in the end prove itself to be ungovernable. I see no pressing interest in that place, and I'm sure that we can rule out the foul notion of magics on Dorshen's half, no matter how treacherous our situation may seem. The boot simply does not fit."

Sameus repositioned himself more comfortably in his seat, breathing deep.

"Right you are, but my thoughts, I confess, are still vexed by this sulfur issue. As each second draws nearer and goes by I have become more and more certain, as have some of yourselves I am sure, that it has no connection to swordsmithing whatsoever. Let us be creative here for a moment in our minds as we conjecture its true nature. It may be offensive, it may be defensive, I just can't see it clearly at this time, and it weighs on my collective will to fight. Perhaps it is involved in a new fuel. Who knows...who knows..."

His words petered out as his growing confusion became all the more honest and evident as he settled into his role as the challenger of all that stood in their way, as was requested of him. Biding his thoughts and mouth he came up with several ideas which he spoke out on as time went by. The morning continued on much as it had been and they all driveled what they thought could pass for the truth of the moment before no effective judgment had been passed. Their trove of information and continuous plans grew throughout their conversations and in the blink of an eye lunch and evening had borne down on them.

They had all, at that hour, gone their separate ways in order to produce the best of what they conceived for battle and bring it to the same table the next day. They took a heaviness with them and off from the shoulders of the king who now, less disparaged and more buoyant, thought in circles, abiding until the time of the feast might come and whisk him safely away. They were all expected to do as planned and follow through with their commitment to the sheer will involved in knowing. The positions that this daring game they had become entangled in seemed more and more twisted. They would pull through, of that the king was certain, and as were they.

Outside the king rested lying on his back. He looked up into the peerless expanse of mellow clouds that rolled through the assuaged sky. They rocked in their nests of gaseous stuff and lulled the king like a baby, his eyes dreaming listlessly, careening him about as he rested prone. Each rung of white fluff climbed further into the blue laden day. The sun beat down on him as it chased the western horizon, falling of the side of the world bit by bit until there would be none of its precious light left to breathe by. Roger, clad in the warm and agreeable air of the dying day looked with a challenge in his heart and spirit into the natural formations of clouds directly over head. While he was awed by their inescapable majesty he still wondered thickly at what fate had in store for him. He wanted to know now more than ever as he saw the full shape of a castle drift by what this all could mean. Where were the answers when he called for them most, and what, in all truth, could the fog he had read about be? Gnats, in the hotness of the light, swarmed around him over his resting body and head forming concentric vortexes of their accumulated selves, their slight and tiny bodies full of helplessness and daring. His eyes zipped closed at the seams after some short time, and he listened to the chirping of birds as the hid themselves in the trees, flying out and among them once every few breathes as if to signify their noble dominion over the healthy habitat in which they sat and fluttered. Bees hummed and whirred with a slick malevolence that he could recognize anywhere, having been stung once or twice himself as a child. He could not forget their derisive wickedness or fatal attractiveness any time soon. One planted itself on the end of a bright, opulent looking plant that glowed with an otherworldly life. Its purple vibrancy and porously spaced pollen must have attracted it there. Roger looked once more into himself, trying to find the simple hearth of freedom and happiness that he felt deep down but could not dare ever to touch. It danced under his thumb, oblivious to all but itself, as did the bee, moments before he squashed out its supple life force, quelling it into nothing.

The fog, he thought.

The fog. What could it be in all reality, why did it have to come looking for him, and what an inconvenient war time quandary it had presented. It was a vex on his very soul, as to its origins, but he suspected, in all the beauteous righteousness of the weathered serenity that was this place, that it had little to do with man, as might be the near at hand conclusion.

He thought, for himself at least, that god, or whatever of him was out there, had left its magic there as a flippant reminder of character and case, that he, Roger, could never fully understand the mystery of creation, couldn't respect the simple notion of the natural paradigm. Perhaps he wanted to be more. Perhaps his mind drove him on like this, he thought, because in his depths he could taste the foul witchcraft that lurked beneath it all. He knew for truth and sanctity that none of these things could be the true explanation, but their gratuitous place in his mind, for the time being, would have to suffice. They were the little comfort he had in the long days ahead of him; that he was free to think of these things in themselves as the mystery bore its own subtle reward. He still had not found his center, though he lay trapped by the quiet and calm, and a simpering rage wallowed in his gut where he knew his peace ought too and must reside.

With the bees ruined innards and grit smattered over his thumb he let his mind rove into its simple life. It, like himself, was born for some tragically noble cause, be it the mere fruits of reproduction or even the cascade of holy creation falling evenly and everywhere all at once. It, like himself, meant no real harm as it assorted itself, it nameless face inquiring madly for value and reason, pulling pollen from plant to breeze, and again from breeze to ground. And it, like himself, was subject to the cowing laws and sentences of life and death, survival and choices, like which blade of grass to occupy and which not to. Could this whole ordeal simply be his sour blade of grass? He vowed for a moment never to find his center so far out of place, to never fall that close to the slumbering giant. He had no blade of grass.

He wiped his fingers on his sides, feeling around between his fingers for the splinter like stinger, drawing it up close to his eyes. It looked up at him with a haughty mechanical smile, as if it would still fulfill its role in life. He stared back at it with the same gleeful jockeying futility.

His own surprising insight and mental agility pressed him onward. Perhaps the fog itself was some type of a warning. No, he thought, that would be too quaint a way to live and let live. It must come from somewhere. Maybe it was a natural anomaly that had fallen from the sides of the near by mountains and dribbled into the area where it was found. All in accordance with the laws of the natural world, he hoped, or would that be too much to ask for? His brain flipped through dozens of gritty scenarios that played at the hem of his mind, enticing him. He felt a falsely configured allegiance to the notion of Dorshen having a miraculous fog machine that they could use to dominate the world and saw them in his meanderings as brave fools piecing it together and operating it in the secrecy of the north. He envisioned them scurrying about, to and fro, like noble mice daring here and there, cursing his namesake and investing themselves in an imaginary victory of sorts. He both knew and felt that none of that could even slightly or remotely hold truth. He was still no closer to having a usable explanation and so decided that something of fantasy and reality lay in the fog's bondage. His best estimate was that the fog had developed during the rainy season, or whichever one it was that made conditions there just so, and that and infestation of some type of exotic plant with troubling toxins had taken root. He believed, at least for a second, that this phenomenon or plant, or whatever he could think to call it, had poisoned the wildlife there and driven them feral, nothing by totality more. And also, he considered, the plant must have helped to manufacture the fog outside of its natural time frame, but knowing that he couldn't know for certain became enough for him.

After nearly an hour of lazily passing the day and dreaming his way through the possibilities that stood in their regard he rose to his feet and wandered off into the city down the hill from him, which rolled along the country side in all real joy and splendor, standing firm and solid.

He had taken the garden path, just for the sake of the sights and smells that filled his sensory pallet to the brink. It ran along the palace grounds down to a small street that was tucked neatly out of sight, with a small sewer cover not ten feet from the gate. The gate itself had been forged of iron bars that stretched parallel to one another, painted black after having been draped over with flowers and a simple mystique. The people that hazarded that part of town new that it led to the palace but had never once tried the simple and inconvenient adventure of rummaging their way down the path.

Roger stood tall. He closed the gate that creaked with a loud squeal as though it meant to announce his presence. His crown lay finely on his head, resting as though it were his awesome and occasioned alter ego. At times it seemed to speak for him and on the open streets it was his authority and dormant power. Intending only to have a look about and some enriching small talk with the city dwellers before the feast could begin he lifted his feet and set out. Unusually pleased with himself, he remembered the times before that he had come through this very lane, encountering people of all ages, but more often than not he saw himself as playing for an audience to afraid to laugh. He might have preferred that, had he not developed such a harsh reputation for respect. It didn't pull at him, though. He was prepared as much as he believed he could be.

Walking out from this side street that was merely a cache for lines of homes that eagerly gave way to shop windows he noticed something that caught his eye in one of the display mounts. The store front was a printing press which supported a surprisingly high literacy rate amongst the citizens of the kingdom. He saw there through the light a few well devised maps, probably because a cartographer shared the workspace, as well as a children's book of tales. It had been this that caught his interest. Still in all the invigorating throes of his own childhood, the king took special care when he brushed past the common folk who whispered under their breath, or tucked a curious hand to their breasts. Entering the store with an impassioned zeal he tripped a small wire that connected to a now jingling bell. As it went off a stooped man in near old age with a head slightly balding and the rest of the way full of gray hairs approached the waist high counter. He seemed keenly aware despite a shuddering cough that he gave and he noted the king eying the children's stories with a certain indignant longing.

"What are you after?" asked the old man, moments before realizing that it was the king to whom he spoke.

"I just wanted to sneak a peek at what you've got in the way of story books. It a personal interest of mine." Though Roger did not let it on he was thinking of looking through whatever legends maybe for better insight into the nature of the fog. The man, now in the full sight of the notion of the crown, smiled reverently at the king, making clean eye contact and desperately hoping for his approval. As he moved about the room, the light of the sun illuminating everything with its own particular luster, he stacked an assortment of books into his deft hands and continued to speak with an errant homeliness.

"Why, I remember when your father had assumed the throne for the first time, though you might not. Yep, that was ages ago. Long, long ago."

A wish for old times crept into his eye and the king seemed unbothered by it all.

"Can't say I knew you were coming, though I wish I had." said the storekeeper, slowly, colloquially. He moved the stack of books from his hands to the counter for the king to finger through before transposing himself to a ceiling high and wall wide book shelf. Climbing the ladder to rifle about, he nearly slipped, but luckily maintained his steady balance.

He acted as if he new the king and as the king searched through his memories for some connection; he could find none.

Roger spoke quickly and politely, but savoring the rigid aura of the crown.

"I am in particular looking for something to do with fog or its life force, or even creatures of fog. Would you happen to know anything about this?"

The keeper's eyes brightened for a split second and he shuffled through his memory easily, taking his time. The ladder had a sliding mechanism that attached it to rails at the top of the bookcase, and he slid over a few lengths, stabbing into the rearing line of books before him and removing an old dusty volume that seemed dilapidated to its core and ready to crumble under the next eye to read it.

The bell over the door rang again as someone else entered, curious at the first sight of the king, but then exuding as much reverence as could be mustered. The shopkeeper recognized the person at once and they smiled at one another politely while the king staved off his growing and undeserved impatience. The woman that had entered was young and wore a gray-blue cloak that seemed to exhibit an unreal quality of inclusiveness and her normal attire of worn leather pants and a cotton shirt with buttons. It wasn't clear for the time being what she as after, riding so close to the heel of the king, but he seemed receptive enough and decided to start up an amiable conversation with her.

"Good afternoon, lady." spoke the king.

"Good afternoon to you as well." she responded.

Roger clasped his hands at his waist in uniform motion.

"So, what brings you here, if I may be so kind as to inquire?" He was careful to stick to his manners as he always and secretly desired to leave a well fitting impression on his subjects.

"My father works here, doing book bindings and printings and such. I was just stopping by to see him off to home. It's quite something meeting one such as yourself here. What brings you from your abode into our kindly streets?"

"I merely had a passing fancy and turn of fate. I was looking through these children's stories in a fit of nostalgia and in the chance that I might find some information as pertains to myself."

The shopkeeper had finished with collecting the books and writings that he had spent the last minutes searching for. He brought them to Roger's attention who, with a joy due to a child, flipped through them reading and taking in as much as possible. The man who had just set the books there for him, for some reason not elucidated, appeared to have been set back and with a forlorn look he addressed the concerns of the woman who had entered.

"Winfield is in the back of the shop, Sonia, his shift is just about over and I will get him if you like."

"I'd appreciate the thought, Mr. Matane. Thank you."

She fluttered under her cloak with an overdue urgency and Mr. Matane shot one hard glancing eye at the king who seemed not to notice before turning and walking his way out of sight to the back room where a fair bit of machinery and printing materials were rooted.

Roger, with only about eight books that he had to go through, at last found an old legend about a troubling fog that had in many ages past descended on a hapless land. Skimming through it he thought that while it might not contain any real or infallible answers it would still be a far cry better than the other books, in terms of what he was looking for. Sonia, meanwhile seemed enamored with him and while he, lost in the moment, was reading, she began to chatter.

"So," she clearly said, "what's it like?"

"The book? It's-"

"No, you misunderstood; I meant to be king and to venture wistfully out among your followers and comrades."

The king, rather than taking offense at having been cut off, as well as the audacity of the question, was quite pleased with himself and his winning posture.

"It's phenomenal of course. It has a brave perspective that initiates a foundational change in everything I believe and what I believe I come into contact with. Such as your beautiful self."

Sonia, far from flustered, blushed and chuckled. The king seemed to revel in the moment and majesty, feeling free to say as he was humored too. The book keeper came out from the back room with a strong looking middle aged man who wore normal attire of leather pants and a burgundy shirt. He didn't appear to be terribly well endowed, monetarily speaking, but he was a bull of a man. Standing a little taller than the king he was as strong as a bear and looked as though he knew it. He greeted Sonia in soft tones and they began to converse, nodding approval to one another. They prepared to leave but before they could do so Roger had purchased the one book of interest, which had a strange crest with a serpent and odd creature on its cover, and taken off.

He was glad to be out of the place as, the truth be told, he was a little frightened of the old man who had taken to glancing strongly at him in the minutes before he left. Greeted by a wafting breeze, and the tumultuous sounds of an oxen drawn cart that pulled along logs for whatever purpose, he walked. Crowds of city dwellers passed to and fro chirping and chattering incessantly, it was almost more than he could bear. His spirits rose as he saw a rather large group of people, men women and even some large children, playing dodge ball with a well stitched together ball of cloth and leather. Its patchwork greeted the eye with an enlivening provost appeal, and he liked it for its peasant simplicity. He hopped into the crowd the dove and twisted to avoid being hit and tried his hand at the game. Everyone involved was pleasantly surprised to see his royal majesty taking such a hands on approach to community affairs and bonding.

The ball whizzed by his throat as he jived and spun to avoid being struck. Laughter and jeers could be heard only over the shouts and guffaws of the ones who hurled the dodge ball at them. His lithe dance of motion and betrayal of waist made the day a rare occasion for everyone as they sorted themselves, looking on to his wealth, knowing that this would be a day to remember. The sun was ebbing on toward the horizon and in the shadow of the chapel's steeple they all carried on to their hearts content. The chapel itself had been erected as near to the cities heart as could be managed and preached a firebrand gospel of monotheism, of heaven, and of hell. There were other religions, in decades passed, but they had eventually been condemned as pagan, and its followers offered reconciliation.

Not every population center housed steeples, and the king was not even capable of believing there messages, but he enjoyed the wealth of character and money that they stimulated. The wealthiest all owned homes in the city center that were large, made of cut and polished stone and that shone brilliantly with the marks of the times. There were also a slew of shops distributed all about that sold everything from walking staves to clothe for knit work and rope for knot work. It was a booming time, filled with progress and doubt and not quite the golden age that the king had promised himself to bring. No one seemed to mind or notice.

Finally, as the crowd of players thinned from being struck hard, the tempo had increased and Roger was one of four remaining dodgers. He was a hard man to hit and seemed well prepared. He had always taken the extra time to maintain a workable and exercised level of fitness, if not for the prowess itself, than at least for this. With twenty people standing around and watching on he was finally struck out and decided to enjoy the light by waiting for the next round. It came and went as did the next and the next until at last he became bored and struck up a new resolve to enter the chapel, a place he had not been to for months in his many intrepid explorations.

The chapel was one of the many centers of public wealth and show that the everyday citizen needed to feel the accommodating redistribution of taxes. It was a massive expansive hall with stained glass windows that depicted all sorts of metaphoric religious symbolism like beautiful birds of flight animatedly defeating the servants of deception. Illuminated by candles that sat atop long candle poles it had an altar in the center and a small artificial spring in the center of a second circular stone altar. The king couldn't for himself see what might drive a person to consecrate themselves in god or any other deity, but in a royal manner he was happy that they were happy, even if it was tinted with a small bit of selfishness and pride. He was only poking around anyhow, and it was thoroughly unlikely towards being impossible that he might listen to a word of anyone's sermonizing. Many people, or worshipers, whatever the case may be, sat in the pews though they were filled nowhere near to full capacity. The king took the small time to look at the tapestries hanging on the stone walls that brought an alarming warmth and humanity to the place. They showed great religious figures working with nature and its forces to lead a spiritual revolution among the masses, promising love and eternity. Other tapestries were woven with men of the sword, fighting to make their god known among the nations and these took up nest in the king's heart.

After having looked the richness of the chapel over and through he began to take interest in his book and wondered what the priests of this place would say about the fog or his paranoia for his life, or Dorshen, or any of the many other thoughts that rampaged through his driving mind. He moved up to the front pew which glowed with a soul warming ilk and began to read his new book.

It spoke of a time in the world in which fog rolled into the mainland, spilling itself into homes and violating there precious resolve of solidarity, trading it in for an incumbent nether land where, it seemed, a few who were chosen grasped at the truth. It told the king that this fog emerged when a window or gateway from alternate planes of existence, and brought with it magical creatures of legend. These doorways had apparently been discovered amidst the mist by a secret society called the Enfuriae who endeavored to control these portals and maintain laws of traffic. Apparently, while the society meant no ill, it still managed to become corrupt from the inside out until it was cast into oblivion by a great hero who miraculously closed all the fog windows from the strange new land. Of course, to the kings ears, this all passed as enlivening folklore, perhaps at best tinted with some paltry truths which he could barely taste.

He struggled to sort it all out in his mind, but his grit seemed not to suffice. He knew from the look of the book that it was at least three decades old, and that the story itself might have been far older, having passed verbally down for uncountable generations. He thought for a moment about the scale of it all, whether or not he had a soul. Deep inside, where the eye of his storm lay, he was certain that something of a spiritual core and passion must exist, its power beyond his understanding. Stretching out for the moment to regain his bluster he saw a priest walking by, probably to check that the candles were still of fair design.

His curious nature got the better of him and he thought to himself that if anyone were to have an interesting insight into all this it might be one of the religious clerics. Rising from his dormant pose on the pew he made his way over to the altar that was cut round stone and had a spring of water at its core, careful not to attract anyone's attention. He thought of talking to the priest, whom he was sure would have an endless amount of things to say, but then thought better of it. The crystal clear water that had the faint odor of rose, from whatever perfumes had inevitably been added to it, caught his mind, jarring him to its supple gradients and reflections.

Now that he stood next to the altar he could think of nothing more than to flip further into the book, its gentle embrace tugging lightly on his finer yearnings. It read on to say that this society had apparently held the secret of origin, whatever that was supposed to mean, and used it to escape the dramatic hero's mounting attacks. Having fled to another dimension of space and time they eventually found the fog to be the creation of something of a malignant magician who had traded his physical form for a spiritual one that granted him many powers before he was cast asunder and returned to himself, where he was promptly disposed of, though the details on this were hazy themselves.

Tiring of the book, which seemed a great lose end, and nothing else, he churned himself and peered into the dazzling reflection of the pool like altar, seeing only himself for a brief moment before a pang of absolute sorrow struck him. He tried to follow it as it cowed his mind but was too frail to resist its vile clutch at his inner sanctum. His jaw locked and his temperature immediately shot up, burning with a solitude and power inside his breast and forehead. Feeling as though there were no escape from whatever had seized hold of him he made in his mind as if to struggle, physically, and pull himself away from this muddling pool of shameless reflections. He could not and was consigned to his fate.

Images in his mind began to pull and knead there way to the surface of fears and doubts, things that existed only in tale began to formulate in his mind, all evil and sinister in their own way. Something immense and all-clever, preening itself and breathing smoke and flame, races of tortured creatures that transfigured themselves to predatory vengeance, they all glowed in his head, spinning and twirling.

The pain left him and he juggled for answers as quickly as the questions could be formed in his thoughts. Whatever ill tide had controlled him now receded, and though it seemed as though no one had noticed, the priest, who had been reevaluating the candles had already rushed to his side, his brown robes and waist rope swaying with his glib yet reassuring motions. The king in his eyes had locked his musculature structure, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and stood there as the water boiled and evaporated, calling Brother Marl to his attention. Brother Marl patted the king on the back profusely and sent one of his aides scurrying for a pitcher of water, which was the most he could offer for the minute at hand. Roger, having come to, was almost catatonic with shock, but with an insistence all his own he regained authority over his quaking semblance. Brother Marl conjectured in a quieted tone, hoping not to alert or alarm any of the chapel goers to this center stage plight.

"Whatever has happened to you?" His first instinct was look for the devil in all of this, which was closest at hand to blame, but remembering his manners and form he was reminded that he was in a chapel of the most high and that its sacred grounds could not be penetrated by the witchcraft of the devil's wiles.

Roger responded faint headedly. "I had a vision of creatures full in rage and deception, forming themselves from nothingness and making their way, to slow the world as it turns and live in a reign of terror that would shake the foundations of the universe." Regaining his composure, which came quickly and in doses, he planted himself firmly in place and stood until he was ready to speak again. "I have seen death" he said with dawning certainty, "and it is destined to falter."

Chapter Eleven

Time passed in woeful procession, as did a light misty rain that came with the morning, adding to the dew. Rather than pass on the opportunity that the fresh water offered everyone took the effort to look for moss and to soak it off from leaves onto a dry clothe that would soon be dripping wet with morning water. They had found that this method, after the moss or clothe had been rung out into a water pouch or makeshift canteen, made for much cleaner drinking supplies which gave them an overall joy that lasted as long as the drink did.

While not exactly wanting or thirsting, the sallow truth of condensation was still not lost to them. Silas gently plucked a dew ridden leaf from a low hanging branch and let the moisture run off onto his tongue and throat before wondering at the nights passed events which appeared from any normal perspective to be almost entirely uneventful. Although, there was the exception of his frightful dream, which he felt that he would soon share with the troupe and see if he could gain any of their insights.

The sun was barely up from its rest on the far side of the world and the sky was a sleepy orange, waiting perhaps for another minute or so of rest and darkness, but cruelly denied it by the jutting rays of light. Not much of the sun penetrated into the canopy of trees and to the forest floor, and the day had formally started when the last watch had found themselves in an eerie opaque world which was none other than that of the early morn. The travelers all took to work, making ready for the journey to come; this was the manner in which they carried on when Silas was not there. After rising at the first light they then packed all of the supplies that had been pulled out and lay asunder from the previous night and jammed all of it into their bulging sacks. The ones who finished packing first took the time to scour themselves with whatever water was on hand, without of course going through the drinking supplies, and running hand made soaps over their bodies to wash for the day ahead. It seemed a trifle opulent but they all discerned that the trouble was worth not bearing any stink or stench.

Silas, who was not all the way prepared for having been woken so early listened passively and looked on to their working as some of them sang and hummed lightly, to waken themselves and steel themselves for the day. It sounded beautiful to him, but he was no proper judge, especially in these dawn hours. Their individual minds were all working at different speeds and places, paying attention where it was due but more often living behind their eyes with just a glint of recognition that there was a planet beyond. They all seemed so encumbered with their own sense of well being to Silas, and after sneaking and savoring a few well spent minutes of extra rest he tried to time himself into their routines. Hopping from his seat he began helping Roderick fold over the cloth that, well taken care of, had served as the top of the makeshift tent. After finishing that, they used a long thick stick to break apart the logs of the chiming fire before water was poured over it, letting a steam jet with volume burst through the quick crisp air.

In just such a short time they had achieved something of a properly clean site which had been fully occupied less than twenty minutes before but was now rough packed ground where pine nettles ought to be and dead embers. They were all pleased with themselves and how smoothly the proceedings were going, thankful in earnest that it appeared that they might make excellent time on their trip to the capital city.

At last, and although they all suffered the minor setback of sneaking a few moments rest here and there, they had finished clearing up and out. While they all enjoyed fresh fruits and vegetables for breakfast they filed off into the ever thickening woods, gathering their bearings and starting the day's march. The morning was a slow one filled with jaundice and fun as they quizzed one another on many sights they had seen and the mechanisms of the forest, which they had a glowing optimism for, learning something new everyday. It was in this hour that Roderick thought to himself to get a better spent knowledge of Silas and asked solemnly what had run Silas so far out into the woods and why he wasn't at home with his friends, or working to procure a crop in the free fields. Silas responded furtively, his assortment of feelings roiling deep within.

"My life for the past few days has been nothing short of frightful and dispossessed, to say the least." Having paused for emphasis he then thought internally of whether or not recounting the truth was in his best emotional interests. He couldn't figure whether his voice, or even mind, would crack under the tornado that he had lived through, had survived. After a split second decision, he continued.

"In short, I was an incapable fool. I actually thought that the world was coming to an end, though then it seemed with good cause."

"What do you mean?" asked Roderick, intrigued.

"What I mean is this. When I was out at evening with the love of my life, who now lies dead due to my lecherous err-"

Roderick gasped in disbelief.

"- the sky had lit itself up with streaks of flame that plummeted to the earth and splashed wildly into the lake near where we slept, soundly. At first the two of us had no idea what to make of it, we couldn't figure for anything what was going on. But as the sky grew thicker with that bout of fire I assumed in what context my mulling and ill-trained mind could only, that the world was coming to an end."

Laughing impolitely and discouragingly Roderick, and Luca as well, gagged themselves in an overdue courtesy.

"What was she like? And do tell us, what else happened that night. It sounds unbelievably dreadful."

Dysion, who could not help but overhear, was not quite so resolved to take this story on for the truth, as had the others, and he silently kept a grimace hidden on his face of disapproval. Silas, however, now caught up in the thick of it all again, his throat choking with the scare of the memory, kept on with his tale.

"We rushed into the town-it is truly beautiful when it slumbers- and we split up. That is the point at which I absolutely curse my pea-headed logic. If we had stayed together she might still be alive."

"Was she struck by the fire from the sky?" asked Reid relentlessly, trying to piece it all together. "Did she come across the wrong group of people?"

"No nothing like that, fortunately." responded Silas. "As we went our separate ways we aroused the entirety of the town who took one good look at the sky and believed as we did in true ignorance of the reality of the situation, that it might be their last night on with the world. What happened next was nothing short of insanity, and not the kind that I or anybody is used to. They all went out into a drunken and ale fueled riot, nearly burning the town to the ground of their own accord."

"That is terrible, and what of your girl, may she rest in peace, what happened to her?" spoke Hap, working toward diffusing everyone's growing concern and emotion.

"Well," said Silas, counting his breaths. "She was burned to death in one of the many fires that arsonists set. It was in her home, actually, which I thought would have been one of the safest of places."

A tear swelled in his eye, and his cracking voice said no more. For a time.

"I was wrong." Silas' voice spouted.

The admission, pent up for the day or so that he had been separate from his life in the town, lifted an incomprehensible burden from his shoulders. It, in itself, did not mean much to him. But on the other hand, what he thought it would mean for Mary, could she have been there, was immense. And he clung to it, stood by it, just to stand strong once again. The others noticed the change in him but Dysion, his suspicions mounting, cast that explanation of events aside as nothing more than a poorly contrived episode. He reasoned that nothing of the sort could have truly happened, they would have seen at least parts of it in the sky themselves. And they hadn't, which was proof enough for him that it might be just a fuzzy lie. He looked Silas over, almost sure now that the tears were faked or forced, and began to work up a retort, something to force him to admit a conceivable truth.

"Where's your proof" he proffered sharply. "You can't expect us to just believe something that unreal with no proof."

Silas was shattered.

"You're speaking quite out of turn." said Jani, looking to chide. "I hope you realize that this man has feelings, and no matter what the game he would not con."

Dysion was still not mollified and he looked back at them, pausing his trek for a moment. After looking Silas over with a drawing sense of apprehension he stuck to the path again, sure that for the moment he was the only voice of reason. He then commented, after picking up the trail again, mulling.

"You certainly don't look like the lying type, but you did bring weirdness with, since the minute we met, that is."

Jani was taken aback, thinking that the man walking slightly in front of them was being irreprehensible.

"You can't assassinate this boy's character with doubt! He was only-"

He was cut short as Dysion, now stirred, became more vocal.

"He did say that he was in fight. All that I'm suggesting is that things might not be as presented. What if someone thought to avenge the life of, what did you say her name was? Mary?"

They all ruminated in silence on the notion for a minute or two, with each passing second they liked the sound of it less and less. Some of them saw the passing logic to what the accuser was saying but in turn decided to let it be. Dysion, finally becoming peeved that he lacked a like minded audience, decided to let them all know what he truly meant by it all.

"What if he is hiding among us, does that not make proper sense?"

"Well what if he is?" said Jani, mockingly. "You never let him finish his story."

"Yeah." interjected Kaplin, sympathetically. "Tell us again Silas."

Silas, growing more heartbroken with each passing second of doubt, chose to give them full honesty.

"I am not hiding among you in the most sincere sense, though I consider myself fortunate to have discovered your company. The morning after the riot I was identified as the one who started the ruckus and captured, put on trial, and then unjustly-by the man who attacked me no less- sentenced to death by mob."

Cautious whispers were all they could generate and the more that they grappled with it the more it made sense, in a contorted kind of way. Dysion, considering all that had just been said, kept his calm and muttered something begrudgingly underneath his breath. Gaining confidence he then thought to himself that it would be best to let the issue pass and move on, though he was still in disbelief at the maddening notion that someone had died on the account of someone else thinking the world was ending.

"Alright." he conceded. "I do not think that there would be any realistic value to going into hiding among us, nor do I think that you have even a speck of ruthlessness in your nature, having known you all of one night. Therefore it seems, though your story is a little fantastical, that you'd never preempt to do anyone any real harm." Souring his face for a moment he seemed as if he would choke on what he said next. "I believe you."

Although his spirit was still crushed in the bitter wake of his prior accusations he was uplifted for a hair's breadth of time, knowing that he could gain and keep their trust.

A few minutes of marching stolidly had passed and after that it wasn't long before Dysion was at it again. They all had taken note that he had been walking with his head down, as though pondering something immensely.

"If we should ever visit your town I'm sure that whatever cosmic event had shown the fire in the sky might have left some type of residual fallout on the ground, for us to analyze. That would prove your case, wouldn't it?"

"Why do you bother?" retorted Hap coarsely. "You know that we won't be going back that way for ages. And what's more! We aren't out to prove Silas' case are we? You just keep adding to the pain of it all, don't you? I wish for the soul of me that you would remain silent just for one hour."

Dysion too decided that he'd had enough of playing along and went on bickering back and forth with other members of the still walking group. Silas, who had to his good fortune grown oblivious to what they said, wondered now at small things and then told his concerns to his new found defenders and his wanton prosecutor.

"Why was the fire you made so large? It could have been used to signal, considering the distance at which I saw and approached it."

"Ahh, that. Well, isn't it obvious?"

"No." was Silas' meek reply.

"It was to scare off any natural predators that might have emerged, like bears and what have you.

"Oh."

"Aside from that we also just happen to like them like that. It's something of a comfort to one's own soul to know that he has mastered fire."

The day picked up pace, and with it a sticky residue from the hot moisture that had collected in the air seemed to settle on exposed skin. Everything was going well for everyone now that they had contented themselves not to argue the more trivial points of their chance meeting with Silas and his poor tale of woes.

As they peeled through the forest they pawed at branches that hung low and concealed paths from them, hoping to make as much progress as could be made before day's end. None of them became particularly tired but instead developed a spirited kinship for one another as they tried to carry on conversations and play games with one another. One such idea came to Roderick to make speculative situations with tireless obstacles, some real, some make believe, and to come up with new inventions of mind and contraptions to safely avoid disaster at the hands of whatever problem stood in the way.

Anything to keep the day going and hopes high.

Playing into it, Silas, and others without remorse, came to enjoy it and learned to respect the common brilliance of their peers, learning more than he could have expected of and about everyone with each passing moment. Through all the laughter, speculations, and honing of their adventurous skills, they passed the hours and miles until at last it became time for lunch and they stopped for a quick snack.

Ultimately and after little debate they decided not to waste time making even a small fire but instead to go through the fresh meat that they had before it turned sour. The catches were all newly made, at least within two days, and they hungrily devoured the stock before it ran down. After having finished eating they all took a slight break to rest their legs and shoot marbles, of which most of everyone seemed to have affection for. Establishing a well sized ring for them they used what amounted to cleverly rounded and smoothed stones that came in little spheres, as if the sander that made them had exhausted all that is paramount in their contrivance. Morale rose and everyone was much the better for it, resting calmly and taking it all in that they, free from many of the depressing realities of the time, could take the simple time to shoot the breeze, or carry a whistling tune.

The time came after the pleasantries had passed and were little more than stoic memory from them to leave this place, and they did so, with renewed spirit. Their games and songs had been fun for their own lot but now was a time for more serious matters. Jani took to debriefing them about how much progress they expected to make before they stopped and pitched a large campfire, commandeering themselves for the night. His voice rung with a natural concern as he explained to them all that there would be no pity or time for slouches and that good time must be made. And in true fashion of his leadership he brought up the point that if things didn't improve for them speed wise, because the pace they were keeping wasn't as grueling as he would have liked, then they might have to resort to using the roads. No matter how dangerous that appeal might be.

The forest for its own sake was thinning out and offered a healthy natural shade from the sun, for which they were all graciously indebted to the trees. Having been well on their way for at least a solid hour, Dysion had let his mind wander and started up a new line of questions, playing for greater depth with Silas.

"Silas," he said, "you're a clever man and all that, but have you ever been to school? I hear that there is a major university in Verlan, and seeing as we all might get there eventually, wouldn't you be interested at studying there? I'm sure that they have great texts and all that, probably untold volumes in their libraries. For me it's like living a dream."

"No, I've never had any formal education of any type." responded Silas half heartedly, "But on the other hand, I am a man who knows to read and write. The town healers in each generation pass the skill on to those who seek it and my parents were fortunate enough to learn it. My mother, in particular, taught my siblings and me proper grammar. She educated us when she could spare time from working nonstop to keep things in order and make sure that we always had a decent meal. Things were passed on in that manner. After I learned how I soon found it rewarding to teach others, who no doubt did the same. It triggered a rather vindicating chain reaction, so to speak."

"Oh." said Dysion. "Are your parents still breathing? Or did they suffer some ill fate as well?"

"They were fine, so far as I know, and I hope in the most sincere regard that nothing sad or foul has befallen them."

Their back and forth friendly question and answer continued until Luca, astounded for one nondescript minute broke in to their verbalizations.

"Shhh...Shhh..." was his level and silent demand.

"What is it?" said Dysion in a barely audible whisper, catching on.

Though the woods almost entirely obscured his line of sight Luca checked and double checked the road ahead, as everyone jumbled to a halt in one throng, certain he had seen something.

"I am certain that my vision does not deceive. I have found something. Stay silent." he beckoned them.

Obliging with a degree of lost posture and fright they all waited expectantly, uncertain of what might jump out of the shadow into them. Their heartbeats had all picked up speed, resounding violently against their chests, and Silas, in the midst of it, did his best to appear demure. A rather loud rustling sound jarred them all to attention and they began to crowd round the same area, fighting for the best opportunity to listen to what they all became certain was a beast of some nature. Knowing that they could ill afford to lose anyone for lack of safety, Roderick bravely set his pack down and pulled a knife, gesturing that everyone should remain silent and in place before he wholly disappeared into the foliage, hunting weapon drawn. He looked quite comic, stalking through the bush as though he were some type of hero, but they all expected to at least get a good glance of their adversary before moving haphazardly through the stark wilderness, and he would give it to them. Moving slowly he could here Kaplin behind him, staying in place as ordered, asking the others for want of comfort.

"Do you think it's the crazy man we scared off last night come back to get his revenge? What if he followed us, or worse yet, knows precisely how to track."

But he was too loud for Jani's liking, who let him have it just before Roderick moved out of ear shot all together.

"Do you want to get us all killed?" he whispered wildly."So what if it is him? All we have to do is spot him first, and your loud abrasive nuisance voice isn't helping anything. Learn to hold your tongue. If I have to talk to you agai-"

But his voice trailed off in a decrescendo as Roderick had moved to far from the group to here clearly anymore. Trekking onward with calm, he didn't know that his advance was to be thwarted by a large gully that was entirely overgrown with large plants and trees, some tilted helter skelter over the depressed face of the incline. It was here that he came to find what all the commotion was about, ensconced in the greenery and leaves, and not at all surprised to see him, in all likelihood having smelled him first.

Chapter Twelve

Its glittering front row of teeth shown expectantly, though not savagely, as the dog eyed him thoroughly, unsure of whether he meant any undue harm. Of course he was carrying a knife, but that was merely a secondary precaution, should he run into dangerous game or animals, but the dog seemed to see it nonetheless. It was a fairly large dog whose tail began to wag with fervor as his cool blue eyes discerned that no hurt would come if none in turn was offered, and began its search again. Roderick then noticed a roughly drawn rope collar on the beast that might signify that it was tamed as he, in the passion of the moment, began to lose interest though he keenly watched after it.

The dog barked one last time which was likely what Luca had heard to start with, apparently pleased with itself, before running up the slope to him, capturing him off guard. Though he was nervous to the core of him he accepted the dog's licks on his hand and rubbed behind its ears, having dealt with pets of this nature back at his home village. At the top of the slope the dog lapsed back into his sniffing and rummaging before darting past him. He had put away his knife for the time being, having breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing that as far as fortune was concerned he could have encountered almost anything. It was then that a man in hunter's garb poked his head through the bush and pushed his body through into plain sight, looking puzzled as he identified Roderick standing there, afraid and alone. He called out to him, confident that he would get a friendly response from the one he had already deemed a stranger to these woods.

The man who had been after the dog, for himself, was not a very large man. He was of average height with curly black hair and a clean shaven face and seemed wholly intent on following his pet, though he did take note of Roderick.

"What's your business here?" he called, as he came into speaking range.

"I'm actually just acting on some noises I heard, but by the look of it, it was just your dog."

"Yeah, Rif is great. We were out hunting for the day. He must have been trailing the scent of a deer that we spotted earlier and barked or made enough sound to attract you. I hope he wasn't loud enough to scare our game off." Looking Roderick over with disregard he thought for a minute about his safety and what, if anything, would be asked or demanded of him. After the moment had passed he recognized that there was no great cause for alarm and accepted him at face value.

"Probably he didn't scare any deer off, but I didn't see any out here either. I was merely passing through the woods with a group of travelers who are coincidentally my friends. We worried for naught. We were almost certain that a bear or something else was lurking about." said Roderick, defensively, having noted the pitch in the man's talking.

"How many of you are there?"

"If I had to count I'd say around seven."

"You are all very far from common place civilization. If you are staying over night in the woods then I say that you needn't go through all the trouble of pitching camp. I live in these beautiful woods and would be happy to have you all stay with me for at least the night. We are a long distance from my house but lucky for you it might be in the direction that you are traveling."

Seeing that the man was earnest and wanting company Roderick could say no more. He instead pondered the hunter's words and decided for himself that he would have loved to enjoy the man's company, but couldn't speak for the others.

"I can't say for everyone," said Roderick, "but I'd certainly enjoy taking you up on your offer. You must come with me a little way back from the gully we are at; my friends would be delighted to hear you out. Perhaps they might take your company for the day."

"So be it then. I will let my hunt wait for a few minutes to determine if you'd be staying. It's too bad about that doe, we were right on its trail, but we'll find it I'm certain."

Roderick then noticed the long bow and arrows that the man carried in quiver and hand and felt cowed for a moment, but refused to show it. The man finally recalled his manners and shouted out to him.

"I nearly forgot, my name is Freia, and these are my woods."

He swept his arm out as part of a courtly bow, but for the most part, as his hat tipped a bit on his head, it seemed comic.

"And my name is Roderick, sorry to have kept you in such suspense."

"Not a problem at all."

He had now made his way up and out of the gully and stood a few feet away from Roderick, standing an inch or two shorter, but muscled physically, and present all the same. Following Roderick, who turned and began a much more confident journey back the way he came, he struck out whimsically at branches and brush that stood in his way.

Having found their way back to the main party they rejoiced internally, knowing and hoping that all had gone well with them and that there hadn't been a second source of commotion to have snuck up on them. They held a reverent shock for Freia, who, clad in his garb and armed, delighted and thrilled them, especially when it became known that he was as friendly and inviting as he had shown himself to be. He was jubilant at all the new names, and faces to go with them, and let them all see it as it glowed brightly on his features. Having cooled and collected himself from the humdrum of first encounters he extended his hands in a hearty handshake with whoever would accept.

"I'm more than glad to have met you all out here. It gets quite lonely in this forest by myself and I don't often get visitors. I had the grace of talking with your friend Roderick here and he as much as told me that you might be headed in the direction of my humble abode. If you are, and it is many miles from here, I'd love to see you stay there so at the very least I can collect the latest gossip and news from the far reaches of the kingdom."

Assuming a rare and unexpected air of responsibility, Reid began to speak for them all after having briefly checked each man's eye for signs of life.

"What direction do you live in?" he stated placidly.

"North by west, and about seven miles. You caught me on my game trails."

"We seem to be headed in a westerly direction to begin with." smiling and looking around, Reid guessed at whether or not they'd enjoy the man's company. "And for the most of it we'd like a draught of your fine company. Sure we'll stay with you. And to cover seven miles should take us at least two more hours. It would have been about then that we would have stopped to build a fire anyway."

Still a little disoriented from the entirety of the situation Dysion and those standing near him of like mind began their own inquiry.

"So, you must tell us Roderick. What was all that business with you sauntering off to clear the way for safe passage? Was it simply this man here?"

"Of course, of course!" he replied. "I'd nearly forgotten! It was actually his hunting companion, a keen set dog that must still be making its way about these woods merrily seeding out its prey. It didn't seem frightened of me but rather took me to be something of a curiosity, though I was blatantly armed and half out of my wits."

"So it was just a dog?"

"You heard me."

With that last remark they all gathered their things and made as if to follow Freia, who happily obliged. The cloudy sky obscured the light that tried hurriedly to filter its way down through the canopy to the earth, but to no avail. The day was growing older but Silas seemed to be the only one to notice. He was in the process of formulating his thoughts in to words, wondering where the dog had gotten to when suddenly the huntsman cried out with a piercing whistle. But Rif did not respond. They all wondered at this minor set back, but most said nothing and those that did commented only under the austerity of their own breaths. It took a few seconds to figure for themselves why the dog hadn't come, however when they were sure they padded off after him. He must have found his prey.

True enough to his nature they found him about forty paces away in the woods, picking up of the heavy sound of his breathing. Everyone, including Dysion, who had seemed belligerent at the delay, spotted the doe and dog, both silently creeping along the forest floor.

"I think we should bag that deer, seeing as fortune has been so kind to us. It won't take that long and no point in wasting the opportunity." said Luca, questing his head about as to surmise whether or not anyone had come up with the same idea as him. They did, which was opportune for him as he had begun to feel left out and all, after having stayed compliantly with the group while others ventured off. Freia eyed the creature as if determining some greater truth just from the look of it. Having thoroughly reviewed it in its detail he decided that while it was a little on the small side he was not going to spend all day looking for another. He had a schedule to keep. The creature, a bright brown and bronze fur coat covering every inch of it, moved forward on step at a time, its bold eyes and narrowed head piercing through the vegetation. It seemed not to notice as they all formed up behind Freia, who immediately nocked an arrow into his old sturdy bow, like a hungry crock that had waited to long for a meal.

The arrow in a fraction of the time it would have taken a man to cross the distance arced out dutifully, heading straight forward and into the beast, which rocked and swayed. Then another, and another, until the creature's swaying saunter of escape now serendipitously became a rocking motion before it toppled, punctured by many a shot. That was enough death for them all and some frowned as they watched onward. In that moment five or so, including Dysion, who had obvious experience with hunting of this regard, lurched forward and accepted partly leather bags that were of fair accord from Freia. He himself began to chop at the dead thing, dismembering it and stuffing its body parts into the various bags for an easier carry. He deftly avoided the blood that came from it and in a matter of minutes they were under way again, the load evenly distributed amongst them.

Though noon had passed them hours ago the heat by no account grew any fainter. Sweat and grime caked against Silas' skin as he thought long and hard, wanting to know just what the odds were of meeting such a group of people, or a single man, in the woods as he had done. There was little he could do to keep the heat from getting to him but he tried valiantly, remembering all the great times that he'd kept with Mary. He used to love summer and early fall afternoons and nights with her. They roughhoused, for what they were worth. They loved it. But it was a thing past, and there was nothing that he could do with the memory except allow it to drive him on. The others didn't seem so caught up in themselves as he did. The time and miles passed for them by hurling the occasional rock, or chucking a pebble at someone's head, reveling in the chaos. They were an unruly lot, and that was all it took to keep there hopes on track. Passing through the forest at breakneck speed they soon began to loose interest in their secondary games and shenanigans as keeping pace with Freia became more of a chore and less of a hearty laugh.

"I told you you'd have to be in peak condition." was all he had to say for himself, and they labored on finishing the hike mile by mile.

The air whipped up and cooled them for a moment. They had stopped and Freia had given them an awkward moment to adjust and catch their wind. They knew that they were extremely close to a clearing from the sight and smell of lilacs and various, but immediately beautiful, wildflowers.

"We are here and with little time to spare." he announced, as the old daring sun began its steep drop toward the edge of the world. There appeared to be at least an hour of light left, but they awaited the none-to-soon dusk impatiently, hoping that tonight would bring with it a life of its own. After pressing on a dozen or so more paces they had left the growing shadow of the wood and stood at the edge of a large flowery clearing and sloping meadow. In the center was a large log built home that looked like a massive monolith jutting from the earth's core. It rested in something of a depression that had naturally come to exist, perhaps from a collapse of land due to underground water. Kaplin asked their guide about his but all he had to say about it was that it was the way it has been and the way it will be. With no trees to block the light they could easily see the shadows of clouds gradually working their way to and fro across the great field, blotting a water well from the planets light. Silas picked a flower and brought it to his face, feeling its gentle pressure rubbing against his cheek. He thought this man extremely fortunate to have such a place as this to call his own. The well caught his eye as he was walking double speed, practically taking two strides at a time. It was nearly concealed by the house but managed to poke around the corner, jutting. For Silas it was so serene, and all at once his mind began to think in like turn, that he could make a home for himself like this someday, cut off from the human world of trials and forthcomings.

The world that had taken his love and now livelihood.

He didn't know where to turn, or to whom, with that buried so deep within, and he glanced about as they entered the domicile.

The inside was large and spacious, as he had surmised from the exterior, which was log, plaster, and thatch. There was a central living room adorned with a large fireplace that overshadowed the many accompanying hunting heads and trophies that hung from the wall. Furniture was neatly arranged, and it came just in time, as Silas observed the tired out Hap plop himself into a well made sofa. They all took their turns at getting rest, settling in and putting down the burdensome packs that they hauled over such long distances. Now comfy and cozy, and spilling out of the sofa and chairs, they began talking amongst themselves while Freia set about to resurrecting a fire. It wasn't to keep warm, or even for aesthetic purposes, but rather to put the deer they had brought down on the spittle. As the newly made fire roared to life they all understood and shouted in jubilation, taking skewering rods and knives from the huntsman who freely offered them. They began to slice away pieces of meat on top of the leather bags that the poor dead creature had been carted off in, careful not to mess up the fur carpet. After what seemed forever, but was merely the span of a few minutes, the dead deer roasted gloatingly over the fire, as though that could offer some last protection for itself. It simmered and cooked slowly but surely, everyone developing an eye or taste for it, mouths watering. It would be a meal to be enjoyed.

Silas sat in the corner, listening, half intent on what they were all yammering about, the other half almost entirely recalcitrant. The full weight and power of death, and who it had chosen to claim, lay on him like a dozing elephant, more aggrieving and troublesome now than ever before. His eyes closed halfway and a solitary tear came to his blazing hot face, holding steady rather than running off down any of several familiar tear paths. His body remained tense and for that he merely reminded himself that he needed a good bath, to rid himself of the amassing dirt from his recent stint in exile. He let the feeling pass and sat absolutely still, trying to pick out the best sensations from what was going on around him. No one noticed.

The merriments continued unabashed as they had now taken to passing around a mug of grog that had seemingly come from nowhere. Little jokes and humors had now taken the better of them and they let their fears and woes wash away with the drink, which offered an alleviating pepper to the situation. No one was even drunk by a far stretch, but Silas could see where it was all going, as more mugs materialized. Finally they shouted out that the meat was done its low enamoring roast and was ready to be eaten, and not a moment to soon for Silas, whose thought had entirely wandered. Its faint odor spread itself out around the room, smelling partly like burnt nuts, but in the air he could still taste the savory sweetness of the kill. How gracious of this man, thought Silas, as dinner came his way. It had a calming effect on his jangled nerves, and he was glad for it.

While the feasting and fun was well under way events took a meandering and informative turn. They were all anxious to hear the tales of the land, of which Freia claimed to have quite many. Freia, now that they'd gotten to know him, was a man stubborn in his trappings, completely unaffected by his distance from commonplace or ordinary people. He carried an attitude of uncorrupted freedom about him, as though his years of solitude could have taught him everything he needed to know about a person, though Silas couldn't see directly how. Also in the light was his particular interest in the forest. Having lived in it for his adult life he had grown into a system of regretting nothing and saying that which was to be said, which stood out on his nature. With his golden personage floating about and afoot, Hap quickly warmed to the man's feel.

"So, what have you got for us in the way of stories?" inquired Hap, wanting to mix everyone in the soothed atmosphere. "Like us, for instance, frozen in place today in dreadful apparition of fear, and all thanks to Rif!" Hap, smiled widely at the fresh memory and looked Freia over, as if to make his happiness contagious.

"Well, not much that you'll find terribly interesting. There was the time I wrestled a bear to the ground with my bare hands, sporting it like a child!"

They all laughed a long and relaxed laugh, at the ludicrousness of it all.

"Nothing like that, in all seriousness," informed Freia, tentatively, as if gauging his audience. "Merely that a year or so ago, in the dark happenings of deepest night, I found myself in an enchanting place never before imagined by even my wildest thoughts."

They all began to listen intently and bunkered themselves into their seats, hanging by his words.

"In all actuality, I shouldn't have been there. I was out from home, just for the sake of it a few miles west of here. I had stayed out late, as I had grown accustomed to in those days, only to find myself trapped by the oncoming night. I knew that I'd be hard pressed to make my way back home in the pitch blackness of dusk and as I frantically struggled to formulate a plot to make my way home and stave of injury, it was then that I noticed something in the woods.

"It was something like a manhole, except cleverly hidden beside a massive, and I mean truly huge, tree. At the base of it, where the trunk met the earth someone had hidden near its roots a whittled away hole and imbedded a trapdoor. It was amazing in itself that the tree stood as strongly as it did. I, being the brave soul that I am, decided to investigate full on. I remember making my way down the ladder after prying at the door and besting it, only to find myself in some type of ruins of what to all appearances was an old fort. But that wasn't what got to me. What got to me was the stink of the place, I could taste it if not feel it. Some type of foul magic, almost a bend in what I could inimically sense as right from wrong. Though the place was abandoned it didn't take me more than an hour of looking around, and those ruins were fairly expansive, to figure out why. It seemed that something was eating the place away, inside out, that something had been there beyond the realm of human reason, and I couldn't think of what it was for the life of me.

"I did find, however, a dark gem like rock, and the closer I got to it the more I could feel its brash presence. There was also a library, where I ended up spending the night. I pawed about in some of the books and found nothing on the spiritgem, as I had come to call it, which glowed with that glaring effervescent light. I did see other things though, like a log book that suddenly stopped. It had nothing of real importance other than that some type of urgent experiments were being conducted, as I gathered from some of the numbers. The like of the experiments I couldn't directly comprehend, seeing as it was writ in some strange rune. It also had a few relics which I took come morn, when I left. Little more than a sword, even though it was jewel encrusted. I have it in the house and I'll show it to you if you like."

Silas was swept away by the unbelievable sound of the story, his face wide eyed and pallid. Freia had ventured upstairs and then reappeared with a beautifully wrought sword that he had obviously done his best to restore. It was a little wonder that he had taken it.

"So what happened to that sprit rock?" questioned Kaplin, feigning vague interest.

Freia stared disjointedly into the twisting flames with a stare that seemed to wind him.

"I left it there. So, my good fellow, in all goodness it should still be there, though I doubt that any good could come of it."

Taking interest now, Luca began to lightly drum his own thigh, as if to distract himself though he was becoming more engrossed by the second.

"That means it should still be there." said Luca with a well contrived eeriness. "I mean, for the sake of our sciences." he quickly added.

They all rumbled under their breaths in a light attempt to share their mounting concerns. Roderick, known for his creative appeals set about to test his ideas on them.

"What if the stone retains heat or light somehow, and that heat made you unwell? I see no hope of their being anything magical to do with it. I suspect that it transforms energy in a radius about itself that might over stimulate the human body. Or in this case, Freia's body. I bet it's just a strange new element for our strange new world."

"Aye, I can see that." said Dysion. "But are you suggesting that we seize it for that sake of study, or even application?"

Freia, who had grown impatient at their words bit slightly on his fingernails in annoyance, their tough grit tearing beneath his teeth.

"I warned you!" said Freia reflexively, as they were all taken aback. "The feel of it was not just some normal heat, it was…it was a distortion, and not a friendly one. But if you insist on trifling with it then don't bring it my way."

"Fair enough," said Silas, to the chagrin of most, who had not expected him to deign to the conversation. "We won't bring it your way, but it seems a terrible waste not to check it ourselves. We are men of philosophy and reason, you know."

That hung in the air for moments, not in any wrong or ill manner. Silas' face had the slight makings of a smile, as though he intended to live up to his bold statement, or assume it as a new identity.

Freia had noticed the calm in Silas voice now, and in a polite effort to keep it alive he raised his eyebrows, kindly at first, but then with a genuine interest.

"Are you really?" he asked. "What philosophy and reason would you share with a man such as myself?"

Now it seemed the turn of the inventors to take control of the conversation. They were brimming with things to share and say and wanted to show off their stock in their work efforts.

"We could show you some of the inventions we've contrived." spoke Jani.

Chapter Thirteen

The night had passed quickly and the morning was paved with seeping dew that covered each growing green blade of grass, clinging to them with resilience. Silas had gone outside to the well at the pressure of his new mates, to fetch at least a bucketful of much sought after drinking water. He had slipped out of the house with the light chill of morning breaking way before the stubborn sun that also rose in the unperceivable distance from here to there. Its amber energy battled its way through the mass of clouds that had hung enlivened in the sky, but now drifted like boats at sea. Once free of the doorway, which was twice his girth at least and nearly a foot taller, he began to put one foot firmly in front of another, looking to the glowing sky for assurances that nothing might spring on him from the shadows.

Nothing did.

The simple thought that he was safe here and among these people was enough to mend his tired heart, at least for now. He considered for an instant asking Freia to help him mark out this vast wilderness territory and build a house, but then thought better of it. Better if I stay the course and explore civilization more instead of cutting myself out, he thought, and the thought counted for something because all that he could see in his mind was himself adjusting to a new life in a new place, a place that wasn't devoid of living breathing people. Crossing down the path to the well, which was peppered with distinct stepping stones, pressed in the dirt that were more for show than anything, he rethought the dreamlike trance he had fallen into last night with a shiver.

For whatever reason, lately, he had been having progressively more livid dreams, or at least this had been the second, he recalled. At the well, which was nearly five paces wide and waist high, he fumbled with the wooden cover. It was slightly weathered planks of wood joined together to make a large circular surface, cut in half at the middle and hinged at both sides, that mechanism shrouded out the well's inside completely, preventing small animals or even debris from falling into its unforgiving depths. The well itself was made from large grayish stones that were about the size of his head at least, and were mortared together with a crafty ease. The well by reference didn't seem that old, though he speculated that it couldn't be any younger than himself. It smelt faintly of a metallic tang, one he couldn't quite place as he flipped the cover back on its hinges and grabbed the bucket and its splintery rope, lowering it using a handle that spun the rope from its spool. The bucket descended with a disjointed flopping motion until at last a satisfied plop told him that it had hit the water. With a whoosh it filled itself to completion and it was then that he had stopped to think to himself for a moment. The dream he had last night was becoming more real to him.

Remembering how it almost seemed to him that the blurry plane on which he imagined himself was alive, listening and sensing for him to doubt it or obey it, he shuddered. Things had gotten more frightening, that was for sure, but he still couldn't make out where or what he was in these dreams, only that it seemed a fog writ world as if through a blur, albeit one wretched and splayed.

Thinking himself better for it, he let the ideas pass and gathered the bucket up from the well, untying it from its mooring and heading back for the house. At the threshold of the house it at once occurred to him that the dreams and flaming sky might be somehow intertwined, but as his mind dug deeper into the notion he only reassured himself that it was only due to stress, of which he had his fill. The door opened easily enough, its creaking hinges a reminder of times corrosive efforts. It swung inward just as his foot crossed into the empty yet homely space that was inside the doorframe. Eyes peered expectantly at him and his bucket, like they had caught a scent in the breeze. He addressed them one by one in his head, careful to make sure that they could have a cup of water each, as he was not looking forward to making another water laden trip. He would not have to, for he had already crossed the floor setting the pail down, just as hands with cups began to scoop in. They had their fill, each of them, and their agitated demeanor melted away in the breeze from the open door, which no one had bothered to shut. The sinewy Jani, being most courteous of all of them, leapt to the door way to close it, with water dancing around the rim of his cup and careening to the floor. The floor was wet, but the door lurched back, once again on its hinges, and shut for the better. Everyone thanked Jani.

Breakfast, a piece of torn bread and some old cheese they were certain had taken to mold, passed without almost a word. Freia had offered to guide them to the ruins, which he informed them was along the same axis that they were traveling, and the night before they had decided that eventually they would take to the roads again, bandits or not. They all agreed with him and set off, saving as much time as possible, as only an hour of daytime had elapsed.

They came across the ruins about three quarters of an hour before noon, exhausted. Great blocks of cut limestone stacked in pillars and forming the makings of a parapet were strewn about the woodland, which was cut or cleared to make space for the dilapidated fortress. The stones were massive, at least twice the height of any normal man, and they were stained. Green moss and vine grew disconcertedly along the blocks, ages old. Rain and wind, it seemed, had also taken their toll. The blocks were clearly rounded and smooth, ruined from their former glory. There was no building roof that appeared visible, and only sections of the wall remained, white, in places, as some of its luster had survived. Silas knew that what they saw before them must be at least hundreds of years old, torn and tattered, and he wondered at their original function and want. Wishing that he knew who or what had built them he and his party trudged on, looking at the sky as foreboding and expansive clouds of storm rumbled across the horizon. He knew that the rain would not come for hours but was still disheartened and cooled.

Just from his initial look he could tell that something lurked beneath the surface, and along that with that thought, there was no obvious point of entry. Though it seemed as if the fort had been torn down, in part, he was still amazed that it had stood at all, considering how large it had once been, and how much effort and human labor must have gone into its construction.

There were a few large trees that must have sprouted themselves in the recent decades, and they offered a small protective barrier against a slight wind that blew in from the north, bringing with it the brewing storm's chills. Freia stumbled along leading them to the tree that housed the elusive trap door that they had waited all those hours and the night before to see and enter, searching in earnest for clues to what might lay below. With a shiver of remembrance the bold huntsman stopped in front of the misshapen tree and wrenched the door up and open, allowing the light of day to flood into its long forgotten halls. Whatever reason men and peoples had sculpted this underground domain, he couldn't place and didn't particularly care to discover, he only wanted for his home, thinking back to what it had felt like when he had first come to this stronghold.

Freia, ever considerate, began to move a quicker pace, helping Hap and Kaplin take their final bearings so that they would not be lost and trapped in the mass of the wood. After his concern passed, and they had their direction, he bade them farewell and scuttled off, not wanting to have anything to do with this stricken enclave. As he was fading from sight behind the tall and lustrous trees and forest they all conferred briefly, and then funneled down the ladder.

Once inside they realized that they were in a room that bordered on total darkness. The ladder itself was an innumerable amount of rungs, some rusted and bent, misshaped by the attritions of decay. From the top, where the ladder began its vertical drop, they could catch the last bits of light from the graying day above. The circular entrance topside was like a shimmering band of light, as Silas looked up one last time to see its silhouette dissipate with each step they all charted further into the darkness. They found the main hall that they had climbed down into to be thoroughly immense, with torches that should have lit the way hanging from corroded joints on the wall. Hap, who professed to be something of a survivalist, delved into his bag and pulled forth a flint and tinder box, striking a light to the once oiled but now dry torch that sat in his grip.

Silas could barely make anything out, immersed in the growing dread darkness, but suddenly, and as if to his cue, a light sprung from the shadows; Hap had lit the first torch. In the glow of fire they found themselves to be in a high walled chamber with a set of wide stairs that descended down one level, all hewn of stone, which seemed an odd and taxing method to have built the place. While looking along the walls, which had great rotted tapestries and marks, which he supposed belonged to a specific legion, Luca, whose tall shadow man danced on the wall as he toyed with it in the flickering light, wiggling and waving his limbs, found a vat that ran along the entire length of the wall, down the stairs and out of sight. He stuck out his hand, into the filmy mixture, and found it to be oil. He called everyone over, some of whom had stopped to watch his shadow play, before explaining to them his momentous discovery.

A new source of light.

Hap took the torch, running his hand through the length of the viscous substance, and then jabbed the fire directly into the vat. It took a few seconds for the reaction to occur, but when it did more tongues of flame exploded into the air, running faster than anything they had ever seen down the length of the chamber's wall, shedding more light than had previously seemed possible all about the place.

Freia had been right, Silas thought, this didn't seem like the type of spot on a map for meaningless fun, it had a clammy feel to it, one that he couldn't shake, one that grew stronger as they pressed onwards.

Besides old weapons, that were mostly cracked and broken, they found large pots along the dusty stone floor, some shattered, others pristine, but all of them decoratively made. Silas saw wooden chests, curious as to what was in them, that were old and rotted, but still capable of holding their locks tight and closed. There was a general sense of dismay that was growing in the fort as they moved on, and the debris fields of the first chamber didn't seem to help. In a matter of minutes, as they had taken their cautious good natured time, they reached a massive set of wooden double doors, each door as wide as three men and a foot taller. The doors were oak wood and they were extremely heavy, second to having been ornately carved and shaped. There was an emblem cut into the wood of a sun with an eye in the center, probably belonging, Silas thought, to whatever kingdom of old had built this wonder.

They marched right up to the ancient brown and reddish door, hoping that it would not disintegrate to the touch, or otherwise creak and whine, frightening them all with the many what ifs of wild creatures, some living in here as their lair.

The door opened without any hitch, as they swung the heavy thing in on its hinges. They found, on the other side, a long corridor that smelled of musk and water that sloped gently downward, deeper into the underground. Walking together into the expanse they listened intently, huddling around Hap, the only one who remembered to bring a torch.

The temperature this deep underground had changed, it was now much cooler, almost to the point that Silas could see his breath. He kept alert, feeling the hair on his skin rising and becoming tauter with each step. Something that was utterly wrong lurked down here, and he could feel it. It made him doubt himself, all the strength he had saved in his heart to feel free of burden disappearing down a sick funnel of guilt leaving him breathless and moved. The whispers of his friends were the only barrier to total despair, and he clung to them, trying himself to keep a working conversation going.

"How deep do you think this fortress was carved into the dirt?"

Roderick wiggled his fingers animatedly, to keep a steady rhythm and blood flowing. "It must be at least a thousand feet long and two hundred wide, with a labyrinth of hallways and passageways. But on the whole whatever it is we're looking for can't be that far off. I'm not a believer in mysticism, but whatever it is I can almost feel it."

"What do we need it for, this rock? Just as a souvenir?" asked Jani.

"Well," explained Kaplin, "it might produce heat, according to Freia's account, and that leads me to believe that if we discovered the makings of it we might duplicate its power and use it for any of our many inventions. Extreme heat produces steam, remember, and that can be pressurized, by scientific reasoning. That alone might create a revolution in the way we do things. Imagine, a world powered by steam! Or even, if we knew more about this rock, we might be able to create the highest temperatures known to man, allowing us to change the ways in which we use the forge."

With that in mind they all checked their fears and puffed their chests in bravery, though they still felt far from ease. Navigating the halls proved much easier than it looked. There were a few twists and turns, and they were careful to check every room, but they held their way. Eventually, after the passage of about a half an hour of exploring, though time seemed to run differently down here, they found themselves in the library which Freia had said he had slept in. Silas, now completely distracted from anything to do with fear and his gut instinct, clamored about rifling through old volumes written in a strange rune script. He felt the passion with which the makers of the Fort of the Dark Earth, which Dysion had taken to calling the underground complex, had left behind in their journals. Flipping through the notes and texts, which crumpled and ground away in his hands, he noticed one bound book with hand made paper, had sketches of what they initially came here for.

It contained pictures and apparent dimensions to a rock that by the look of it could be carried in one hand. Pocketing them he waited patiently for them to move on. They had grown bolder, convincing themselves that nothing begets nothing, and for that reason they must be alone, though they still wondered at the growing sensation of something feeling them, knowing that they were here.

After nearly fifteen minutes of blindly traversing what seemed to be an endless maze of hallways and corridors they at last came to a room that looked sunken into the stone rather than carved. It was fairly small and it barely fit all of them in its embrace, cold and dark. And that was where they found it. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch, justifying some of the many theories they had strung together while searching for it. It dealt a glow that wasn't readily explainable along with which a slight nausea of the chest which, though they might have seen it coming, caught them all off guard. In its deep light they basked, wanting to speed the process along, but too ensnared by the find. The light that it shown seemed to come from everywhere all at once, as if there were a thousand million little reflective surfaces about the room that made the light more full and more captivating.

"Well here it is." said Hap, matter-of-factly.

"This is quite a find. What makes it so that we feel its presence so? " reiterated Silas.

Kaplin, feeling like a know it all, chimed in staring directly into its mass and taking slow deliberate steps toward it. "Maybe the minerals and composites that make it up trap sunlight. That might explain it. Who knows what wonders we might achieve with things of this nature. Supposing it allows us to warm ourselves against the elements, or to see in dark with out the use of fire. This could be truly great."

They began murmuring and agreeing amongst themselves and it wasn't long before Luca, who had grown daring since traversing the underground crypt, swept the thing from its silver pedestal and into a waiting bag. With that done they decided not to spend any extra time lingering about, and instead hurried to retrace their steps. Within a half an hour they had found the way back to the large front chamber where the ladder to the surface was located. Having grown accustomed to the guttural feeling of unease that the stone offered they noticed that it was diminishing with every rung that they climbed up the ladder until they reached the top, where it seemed to vanish altogether in the sunlight.

Once solidly above ground they sealed the hidden trapdoor shut again as best they could before carefully peeling the stone from its wrappings and searching it over and over with a keen eye. It was then that Silas first noticed it. The stones face was covered in marks that twined and twisted, dancing around the surface in a never ending ballet of meaning and force. He pointed this out to the rest of his friends and at first they seemed not to notice until in the sunlight it caught their eyes. Silas touched at the marks, remarking that it was patently odd. Upon contact with them he felt swept into a never ending wave, tossed and turned in the surf. His stomach roiled and he immediately recoiled, as if the rock were not to be touched in this fashion, as if it had felt him and made to move against him.

They remembered Freia's warning but knew then that he had greatly exaggerated, this thing that they held was largely harmless and thusly could do them no harm. Packing it up in swift motions they calculated their bearings and made their way to the nearest road, which according to their advice and best guesses lay hours away.

With everything where it needed to be they set off once again, this time with no interruptions or worries headed eastward and angled slightly north. The day was wearing thin and they new that if they picked up the pace they could reach the nearest town an hour or so after nightfall. Silas, now carefree and happy, gladly picked up the pace, running over the possibilities in his mind of what might be the true nature of the mysterious stone they had found. It would need a name, he decided, and the name aura-stone, do to its perplexing winding nature seemed to fit. He tried it in his thoughts before saying it once aloud. He liked it, it was very appropriate.

They arrived in town right on schedule, falling prey to the yawning darkness of night that had spread itself across the land. They had found the roads easily enough, after having spent hours trooping through wild lands and forest. When they finally did reach the roads it was a sweet feeling that left them totally full inside, as though hiding and chances taken with the elements no longer applied. Having made much better time on the dirt trodden roads that were wide and well traveled Silas found himself staring down the road at a sign post, which indicated that the approaching town was known as Lera'in.

In the darkness of Lera'in, which Silas felt was much more comforting than the campfire they had shared, they looked around, heads turning and hunting, for an Inn or guide that could lead them to fair sleeping quarters.

The town itself, as Silas saw it, was significantly larger than Gossam and twinkled lightly against and with the stars of the sky. Houses and their windows were illuminated by candle and hearth flame, all a needed and unwanted reminder of what Silas had left behind. He couldn't help but feel laughed at, as though a hundred sneering faces from the crowds of the riot had followed him, had monitored his every thought and deed. He scrambled to put that behind him and instead scanned the town briefly, its buildings and halls a testament to a new type of sanity, to the cooperative efforts that Silas sought after once again. In stark contrast to Gossam this settlement had signs that declared the name of most of the major streets, a luxury that he had never considered.

Walking along they all raised their spirits, now knowing that they were once more in the firm bosom of society. Making way for them was a man, a little tipsy and disoriented, plainly holding a mug that occasionally spilled over as he staggered along. He was bearded and scruffy, clearly not a very wealthy man, and he looked as if at any moment he might topple to the street and fight an impossible battle to right himself. He was shorter than Silas by a head or so and wore a leather jerkin and green sackcloth pants, with his bare chest slightly exposed. As Silas and his company got closer they could almost taste fermented drink through the thick smell that lingered about the man. Just as he was trying his best to politely navigate his way around Silas' crew, Hap called out to him.

"You there! My good fellow, do you know of any place that we can stay the night? An inn perhaps, or even a hospitable home?"

The man, shocked and dismayed, lurched to a halt, swaying gently under his own weight. Even though he was drunken he still did what he could to appear as normal as possible. He scratched at his wild head of hair, pulling his mug slowly to his face for a draught, and then sucked the cup dry.

"Of course, of course." he replied. "As anyone might have told you the Inn of the River Flower is always open, especially to strangers and travelers, such as the like of yourselves. Why, it's too bad you didn't come to town any sooner, you could have shared a round of ales with me and my kin. Tonight was a great night, though it is still young enough… "

His head swiveled around the group of them, as if he were valiantly trying to match names with their faces, but much to no avail. He forgot for a moment that he had been speaking and turned as if to walk away, his body shifting awkwardly under its own miscalculated press and flow.

"Wait just a minute sir. What did you say your name was?" called Silas, as if to take charge.

The man caught himself at what looked to be the last possible second and turned his head toward them dumbly once more, now eager to say what he must and be on his way.

"The name is…hiccup… Denaio. Why? What could you want?" he said rudely, though no one appeared any further upset by it.

"You forgot to tell us how to reach the Inn, remember?" said Silas, nearly in forlorn.

"Oh that…" was his stammering reply. "Why, it's right on Crescent Street, three streets down and to the left. I hope that you safely find your way there…hiccup… these can be unruly times."

With that last statement of warning they turned their attentions back to the town, which they were quietly warming to, and began marching off down the street, leaving Denaio to his swag and promenade. As the man disappeared out of sight they finally caught their bearings and Roderick talked in hushed tones.

"I hope everyone around here isn't like that." he said quietly to Kaplin, looking calmly over his shoulder.

Kaplin, less afraid of being heard didn't speak with any hush. He shrugged. "I should both think and hope not. Perhaps it was only our misfortune, but now I can see how a town full of drunks might burn themselves to the ground. I wonder."

"You wonder at what?" asked Roderick.

Kaplin meant to ask Silas what it must have felt like, surrounded by some many disordered drinkers, but then remembered Mary and thought the better of it, having had enough experience with only one drunkard. Second to which, he wasn't sure if Silas, who didn't seem completely healed yet, could deal with it. "I wonder were in god's name are we? We've been following the well composed drunk's directions to the letter and we haven't foun… ha… I spoke to soon! Here it is just as he said it would be."

They all, in a line of humanity that wasn't nearly the width of the street, filed themselves down the road on course with their instructions and came across a large three story building, made of stone and mortared together. It was outsized and seemed to take up more space than was possible, hanging into the street in overabundance, like a tethered wild horse, seemingly everywhere at once but subtly confined. Its stone was gray and silverish where exposed, but it became fairly obvious after a moment of looking at the den that its owners had moved to paint it black. From its rivet just above where the first floor became the second floor Silas looked on, immobile, at a sign that had a carved river, flower, and Inn on its nailed together planks of wood, hanging out over the street. It was painted in the spirit of the Inn, a blue river, flower and black building, but neglected to mention that the first floor also contained a tavern. Shuffling past the large barrels that were littered about the walkway in front of the door, containing trash and grain, they pressed past the open shuttered windows, in which candles glowed softly, and opened the door.

Reid was the last to enter and stood in the doorway, its hinges open, staring lightly into the milling group of people that drank and shouted, laughed and clapped one another's shoulders. Finally a robust patron, who had been looking at him since he had recessed in the entranceway, shouted to him.

"You goin' ter shut that door or does somebody have to make you?" he challenged, from behind a frothy pint. Fights were entirely uncommon and the inventors suspected as much, but didn't rue being the center of attention.

Ignoring the man, who seemed too gritty for him to want to have anything to do with, Silas beckoned for Reid. "Come on then, out of the doorway!"

Reid did so reluctantly, still wanting to assess the lay of the place. Instead of standing there he stalked up to the bursar's counter with the rest of his group and they all asked for a room, paying for it in silver coins. It wasn't too expensive but Silas was now sure he would have to pay his friends back for their charities and so decided at the soonest possible occasion he would find work to pay his dues and debts. For now, however, they had just about run themselves into the ground and some well earned rest was needed.

They followed a young woman, who worked for the inn, to a large bedroom with eight beds and retired to sleep for the night.

Chapter Fourteen

The king broke into a mad dash down the street, his jarring visions just moments behind he knew for a sad certainty that he would be late. The sun had almost gone down and the moon was early on the rise, but he had a feast to attend and no time to enjoy their emboldening beauty, their brilliant sheen in the undulating hues of the evening sky. No, he instead had to sprint with a full head of steam back past the bookstore, his cargo in hand, back to the gate, swinging it dangerously open, back up the stairs, teetering from the sheer force of his movement, and back across the palatial ground to the door that led to its endless halls. Wholly deprived of breath from his efforts he stopped there, just inside the palace door and doubled over to catch a gasp of air for his sore chest and lungs. Without waiting entirely for it to settle in his breast he took off again this time at a jog, piloting his way through the vacant stone hallways, save for the occasional guards, who only glanced at him, bewildered.

At last, he reached his room and stripped out of his clothes, favoring something more regal to entertain his guests. While changing into velvety golden pants, hemmed with lines of silver, he began to think, his brain mulling outrageously over the possibilities. Had it been god, he wondered, who had put those thoughts in his head at the chapel. No, he mulled, god could not properly exist by his reasoning, it was just too quaint, and too unreal. But still that lurked in the back of his head as his mind had clearly be summoned and impressed upon by some great power of mind, in the chapel no less. He let the thoughts come to a simmer and decided it was far past time to pay his respects to god, and himself in the process; anything to avoid the terrible things he had seen. Then it came to him. A cathedral, one like nothing the world had ever seen. Sifting it around in his head for the moment he became sure that it was a great a new possibility, one more way for his subjects to remember him by, and one more way for him to prove his power. The more he thought about it the more clear it became to him. Perhaps it would appease whatever had scanned its way through his mind at the chapel, and perhaps, if it were as grand and massive and bold as he envisioned it to be, people would see him as something of an all powerful benefactor, one who put the needs of the people first, spiritually speaking. Or perhaps not, perhaps it was madness. Either way he would have liked to give it a try, and as he made up his mind to hurry, he realized with growing paranoia how late he might turn out to be.

He slipped a new shirt over his head, one with an innumerable amount of shields bearing his royal emblem, a rearing silver horse, and his coat of arms, large and in the center of his chest, meticulously sown in to the silken material, which was strong and supple, able to withstand almost any tearing affect he could offer. The coat of arms itself was also shaped like a shield with a flat top and two curved sided that came to a point at the bottom. It was divided into four sections, one with diagonal stripes of blue, red, and yellow, the other bricks of gold being set to build a great tower, and the other two containing ornate twists and swirls sown to look like ivy leaves.

Having nearly fully dressed himself he set about to put on his grand royal robe, a bright red velvet coat that extended to almost the ground and had a white border of fluff around the cuffs and along where its buttons would have been. He placed his crown back on his head, setting it just so, and stalked of to the state dining hall, where his feast, as had many others, would take place.

He was early. That came as a surprise and shock was written across his features. He stood there, clouding the entrance to the dining hall, brimming with anger that he had put himself through such a loop over whether or not he would have made it on time. He should have known that he would. His robe-coat trailed on the cold stone ground as he made his way into the hall surveying the scene.

The hall itself was enormous, at least three times as tall as a man and supported by stone columns that were in two neat parallel rows that ran the length of the hall. They were sanded smooth but firm, made from cut marble, expenditures that only his majesty, or his majesties father, for that matter, could have afforded. The room was about eighty feet wide with the two rows of pillars forty feet across and twenty feet from the walls. In between the rows, which had ornate carvings of men seeming to support the ceiling with their backs, was a long table of nearly one hundred feet, which servants darted around, setting vases of sweetly smelling flowers on the long tablecloth that covered and protected the table. It was a vivacious purple and yielding to the touch, which the king had dared to test out beneath his finger tips.

The servants wore all white linens, a shirt and pants, as well as neat shoes that were brown and in most cases worn. They had already set the plates and eating ware, and were putting the finishing touches on the decorations as well as pulling a ladder away from the table. They had been using that to light the candle wrought chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. Dragging it loudly away they had finished their work and now sought to bring the food to the table, hot and ready to serve.

Roger moved slowly to the center of the table just as guests began to pour in. They were all well dressed as he was and adorned with rare and expensive gems and jewelry. As is if on cue, the jester stepped in, from the shadows of the servant's entrance along the wall, and immediately began to juggle balls that were painted every color of the rainbow while dancing boisterously around the edge of the table, smiling and making faces at the guests. The king, for once, was impressed. He kept only one Jester in the royal court and even then only by force of habit and history. He never thought much of them or their craft but now he sorely wished he knew how this amazing man was able to perform such feats of concentration.

From his chair, which was flamboyantly carved and sat a few inches above everyone else's, the king saw the somber faced Praetor enter and move along the length of the table until he sat directly next to his royal majesty, in the brilliant light of the candles. By now it had become almost totally dark outside, as the glass windows had shown, and Roger, feeling estranged, was eager to get on with the ceremony. It was one that was not born entirely out of formality, but rather to allow for the notion that war would be upon them to settle in their veins, and to give them time to adapt as the ruling class.

As the Praetor took his seat, dressed in his formal robes, to Roger's right hand side, the king looked him over with a keen eye and twiddled at his napkin.

"I must have forgotten to mention this earlier, but did you invite Hector here with a matter of insistence?"

"Of course highness. As your humble servant I often question your mind and knew that you sought to sway him to you purposes. Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, but I even arranged for him to sit at your left, so that you might be able to better move and persuade him. It was a hard deal to consider, seeing as there are many nobles who would have paid for you left hand."

"Think nothing of it. You have done well. It is critical that he be allowed to lead the tactical notion of my forces, as his mental profundity is known almost everywhere. I do not necessarily see the call for you persuasive element, but should the instance arise, may I count on you?"

"As a matter of course, liege." and then he quickly added, "You have nothing to lose or fear from me."

"Good." The Praetor's last comment seemed to mollify and placate him. But as a matter of character he kept his inquiry alive, tapping into his wellspring of paranoia. "How then are the trade agreements going with Telor'an? You see clearly in my mind that I would seek to plunder their estate if for some reason Dorshen is beyond capture or reprieve." said the king, leaning his head in toward the decorated man and keeping his right hand casually cupped, as if to cover his mouth.

The Praetor seemed to perk at the topic, repressing his desire to rejoice at his private goings-on. "Telor'an? They agreed to my trade pact, and as things are our grain should be headed for their border in good time, and their furs to ours, though I see now why you would want to keep trade with them on a short, short leash."

"Think nothing of it. You have done your part well, and I applaud your initiative at handling matters in your own way, and outside the strict confines of my reign. Your predisposition for independent motion never ceased to amaze me. Ah… here comes Hector now. I will be playing off his ear throughout the duration of this proceeding. I pray that you do not fail me, for I would have grieved without your presence."

Hector, wearing ceremonial armor which consisted of an elaborately wrought breastplate that was blindingly white and had gold formed flames running about it, gilded expertly to it, making for the look of a wealthy, well consorted man. The breastplate also and only covered his shoulders, and allowed for small flaps to hang down around the waste, giving it the appeal and look of a tunic, except that it extended nowhere near the knees.

Hector strode boldly, weaving his way through the throng of men and women standing, chatting, and greeting one another. He looked directly into the king's eyes as he moved toward the seat, directly to the kings left, but showed no amount of hostility, merely self control. He well remembered when the king had pummeled him in a fit of rage, and as he recalled, he couldn't help but realize that perhaps he had been out of place. But the more he thought about it the more absurd it had seemed. Though he might apologize for what he'd said or done, he would not feel sorry. He didn't want to cultivate the king's sense of overdue hubris, the feeling that he alone should be taken more seriously than any other, he hadn't quite earned it yet. He was not at all like his father, however much he itched to fulfill his role and fill his shoes.

Just as Hector took his seat the king, who put on the air of the pensive, shifted slightly, growing more uncomfortable by the second, and doing nothing to hide it. But by now it was time for the feasting to begin and the guests and visitors to this palace all seemed to notice it at once. They drifted rather methodically to their chairs, robes and gowns flowing, until there was nothing but a few pockets of rich conversation still bubbling. It wasn't long before the last of them realized their err of courtesy and wilted away into the seating.

The king, realizing that everyone who would be seated was seated, with the exception of one or two who had come to the party drunk whom he decided not to worry for to much, took leave of his seat and stood before it. Its elaborately hewn wood, cushion, arms and legs, slid backward from his gentle push and he, standing there, reached down for his ale filled gem studded goblet and a cutting knife. He looked around, gaining momentum as he did, and put a soft look in his eye before rapping by design on the cup in hand, calling all present to attention. Every elegant neck and head turned and craned, eager to see the cause of the commotion, only finding the king preparing to introduce them all to the meal. The king steadied his voice and cleared his throat, trying not to sound too obtrusive.

"Dear friends, fellows, countrymen and women. You are all present here and invited to a royal feast to sate your palettes and warm your souls to the royal court, had you any concern about them to begin with. While it can be said that there is a political agenda behind every occasion, I would like to think that we are all here to warm to the camaraderie that we all share for one another. What is it then, you may think, that calls us all as a common cause? I think, I say, it must be our nobility, that we are the ruling class, united as one and confident in our agendas. And what, you may ask, is this agenda. Well-" Roger emitted a low chuckle. "It is none other than to widen our reach, flex our grip, if not tighten them, and to fill our coffers. There is a place where others exist. Where others do as they will and revel in the strange fortitudes of some far flung form of government, where they do not feel the fires that we feed. You know of where I speak. Dorshen. From time immemorial conflict has existed, and as most of you may already know I intend to take the military and armed peoples of Engar into harms way. I intend to take commodity and land from Dorshen. I intend to wage war.

He paused for effect looking around the room as if to draw courage from the very eyes of everyone who had locked him in their field of vision. Sipping from the cup he raised it high.

"A toast, to all the brave soldiers that would serve our ends, and to the glory of men, such as myself, and generals, who would lead them. We will not settle for nothing! We will always take when we dare to, when we are driven to, for that, friends, is the very nature, the very soul the very spirit, of Engar. Drink now and feast. Let nothing dampen your merriments."

After the goblets and cups clanked together, occasionally spilling over onto the smooth tablecloth, they had all taken one long swig from the nectars that sat before them. Appeased for now, the throng of people broke out into a gentle clapping before it died down into conversation, everyone focused on the notion of Engar's new and certain fate.

Talking while they ate they wasted no time in delivering the latest news and gossip from around the land, saying here and there of how taxes had risen and merchants had been driven almost mad. Of how the poor and disreputable had to fend for themselves in these times. And mostly, of what percentage of those who funded the entire economy with their stable tributes and currency would be whisked of to war, recruited. None could quite say, and the froth of the party showed no signs of slowing or dying down.

Hector took full advantage of the commotion. Though he was slightly peeved with the king he was quickly letting it pass, though he made a point of greeting and talking to every one within earshot before even attempting to address the king. He was more than a little worried that the king would try to force him out of his element and into some new, ill gotten skin. Make him to do something irreparably beyond his humble nature. He had no real intention of serving in the upcoming campaign, but he sensed from the Praetor's attitude when they had talked earlier that he might just be made to.

Roger, with the festivities now fully underway, was growing quite impatient. He couldn't tell whether Hector, his greatest military mind and asset, was deliberately avoiding contact with him or was always just that polite when dealing with other people. It was a riddle to be sure and it annoyed him, leaving him to feel no end of anguish and torment, as his plans were almost entirely hinged on convincing him to lead by the end of the night.

Time seemed to whip past him, as if it had lost all forbearance and had disappeared. He couldn't figure how long the feast had been on, as he, filled to the brim with composure knowing that he was being watched by a thousand separate eyes, ate his dinner. He found it to be quite delicious. He would have to compliment the chefs if he had the good fortune of stumbling across any of them before he forgot to do so. The food itself was plentiful and diverse. One was like a pot pie, but very spicy and containing no meat, but rather potatoes and vegetables. Then there was the pheasant, a healthy favorite of every one there. Not to mention the elderberry ale and other constituent drinks as well as the dumplings and fried rice of every flavor and timbre. They wanted after nothing. All was freely given, a luxury known only to the wealthy.

As Hector finished his latest conversation, which the king had been watching with a vigor, he counted the seconds and crudely cut in the moment he had spoken the last word. His voice was light and airy, well pleased with all the happenings. He was beginning to become slightly drunk from his goblets well used nature, and decided that now, without waiting to become fully inebriated, was his best bet.

"Hector, my greatest ally." said the king patronizingly.

Hector turned to his right to face him, not in the least bit pleased to see the forceful smiling face that stood but a foot from his own." Yes, O King?"

"There are many things I would like to talk to you about tonight, for instance, did you know that I had something of an experience of late?"

"Did you? Please tell. I would dearly like to know what, if anything the invincible majesty would consider an experience."

Roger laughed happily, but was drown out by the loudness of everything else. "Well I'll tell you straight away then. I was in the heart of the city, having snuck off before the feast for a taste of life. After I had entertained myself with a bout of dodge ball with some commoners, which I now find to be a little odd that it would be me playing with them, I made my way quite by chance into the chapel. It is in our fair city and I came looking for inspiration, if anything, but as I had approached one of the altars, which also contained a small bit of water, the most frightful of possibilities occurred."

Hector had perked his eyebrows. "What was it majesty?"

"Why, I lost all my sense and reason, at this altar, which were supplemented instead by visions of dread, and the water near me boiled itself down. Perhaps this god they speak of has something for me."

They both laughed and chortled at the top of their lungs, Hector nearly biting his tongue off. No one took notice and things continued as they were.

"God?" asked Hector."I believe it might be possible, as a thinker foremost, but I would not hold that explanation in such high regard if I were you. I doubt it has anything to do with religion."

"True, true. I don't much like the holy explanation myself, but as I see it, there was too much happening for it to be coincidence."

"So what were these visions?" asked Hector.

"I don't care to tell, but what I will tell you is this. Perhaps I do it because I mean to appease whatever it was that held my mind in its grips, perhaps to waylay misfortune, or maybe because it is just a great idea. I intend to, as a new sign of my power, begin immediate construction of a grand cathedral on the border between us and Dorshen. Surely you know what a cathedral is, Hector?"

Hector was stunned, he looked as though he had been struck with the force of a bull. "But... I... Hmmmm. Why would you build that? Are you sure it will be to your historic account and glory?"

"Absolutely! That is why I even considered it. It was so simple a thing to do that no wonder I had overlooked it each other time I set my hopes for the sky. How do you like the idea?" stated the king.

"It's grand. Totally grand." said the general flatly. "I can almost completely see why you would do such a thing. It is noble and I am behind you."

The king, now certain that he had stretched the conversation long enough, and sweetened Hector, his prized man, to talking with him, began at once planning his next move.

"What of you Hector?"

Hector had stopped talking, intent instead on the Jester, who loomed nearer and nearer to them. He had a few eyes watching him as he now tossed and juggled sticks lit to flame at one end. He had six of them, with their oil soaked clothes wrapped around the end of the juggling stick and burning brightly. They tumbled and flipped high through the air, all the while people had taken to cheering him on. He was dressed in his normal palace attire of loud clothing and a brass bell studded cap, with shoes that curled, also with sewn in brass bells that jingled lightly. He executed aback flip in the midst of his routine, all the fire sticks in the air, and then deftly caught and continued those which had fallen toward the earth. Hector feeling drawn to the man watched him patiently, pleased that someone with so much natural free spirited talent worked for them. He had seen the Jester near and around the palace before but had never developed an appreciation like the one he now felt for him. As if he sensed Hector's reluctant joy he edged closer and closer, putting on as good as show as he could, having performed in the presence of the royal king's company before.

Hector shifted and began to speak again after the long but welcome interval spent marveling at another man's craft.

"What of me, sire? You mean do I have any experiences that I would like to share? Not of the kind and depth that you have had. All I have to offer are day to day commonplace happenings."

The king, somber, had also taken to watching the Jester, who was nearly right on top of him. "That's not entirely what I meant, Hector. When I said what of you I meant how do you feel? Or more importantly, are you fit to lead? Do you have what I value so much in you, that quality of mind that is so elusive in everyone else, that my father saw in you?"

Hector was taken aback. He pursed his lips and waited for the king to continue.

"Hector, the matters of which I speak are of the gravest importance. I need a leader, one such as yourself. I know that you consider yourself to be something of a retiree, and that you in little part support this war I endeavor in, as you might think it foolish. But I need you. You must sense that. If I am to win with any amount of decisiveness you must be there in the forge of battle doing what you do best." said the king.

Hector had put his left hand to his temple and gently massaged with closed eyes. "How have you won me over? What good can truly come of this? I see how you would make a name for yourself from my many victories, but what of the greater path that I feel I must tread? Gold perhaps. Maybe you would promise me that. Or land. However I assure you I want for neither, I am already past this manner of vain fortune and conquest. It is not befitting for me."

"But think!" added the king. "You must see it, the good I mean. What we could do for Engar, how it would blossom and bloom under the banner of a brave new future. Let nothing stand in our way! Remember those days?"

"In truth, I do. I see what you are offering, Roger, but the wisdom of my age tells me otherwise, of my experience. Their can be no doubt that I would do it to my fullest if you demand it of me, but you have not won me over. Know that. I am for you always, but use your heart at least this once! See as I see and perhaps you would not be so sorely in need of my kind in the first place. Your glory rests on your plate, not mine, and I like it that way."

"What if I told you that Dorshen holds the key to the future, that if we are to become great even at all we must risk all and go there. Would you change your mind then? Would you side with me?" jibed the king.

The general put his hands behind his head and thought for a moment. "Of course I would."

"Then I demand your service, for that is the crossroads which we are at. It is too bad that you do not see it as I do."

After pouring over the notion in his mind, of what it would mean, of how he would have to do that which meant winning, sacrificing pride for servitude to the king, and of discipline, he consented.

"I agree then, as you have taken it upon yourself to demand it of me I will serve. I will lead. I will conquer."

"Excellent." said the king, kicking back his goblet.

"But when, my king, is this war to be fought? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year?"

"Within the month." the king said with finality. "Within the month."

The feast was well deserved, he thought, and all was on track for success, perhaps now it would be time to indulge. Ordering another round of food from the servants and asking them to leave an entire pitcher of wine, to which they obliged. He threw back goblets of drink as quickly as he could, losing his sobriety with a vengeance. Most if not all of the guests had already started themselves down this path, doomed to a night of drunken pleasures. The Praetor, who had been caught up in the pleasures all around him noticed that his Majesty and the general had given up their conversation, and being prudent he waited. He waited for the king's ale and meal to settle, for his judgment to cloud, for when the man to his left would be most suggestible. Not that he had anything in particular that he needed to convince that hard thinking man with his crown and robe of. It was just his nature.

For what seemed like hours, and what must have been, they all took part in the greatness of what was a night to remember, the king now fully drunk, which was not unusual but was in part unlike him. He always did like to keep a clear head. The Praetor looked around the room, now the last remaining man or woman who had evaded the drink. He did a thorough job of keeping his wits about him, though everyone else had become wilder and more uncouth. He made full eye contact with the jester, who had now taken to miming and pantomimes of the feast guests, who laughed all the merrier at the caricatures and facades that he presented. He worked his way, dancing and acting around the table until he was in near the Praetor, who whispered in his ear.

"Meet me outside on my mark."

The Jester, still in the throes of his act, agreed silently, nodding his head for his cohort to see before hopping off as if it were all a part of his great mystery, at which the feasters marveled. No one had noticed the brief exchange.

With the entertainer now well out of range of suspicion the Praetor, brushed the crumbs from his regalia and sized up the gleeful king.

"So have you convinced Hector?" the Praetor asked the king, shifting things in his thoughts.

Roger turned slowly, obviously succumbing to the affects of ale, and patted his companion on his rippling back."I did. I told him exactly what he needed to now, and he turned his services over to me. I didn't foresee that it could have been done any more smoothly."

"And what did you finally agree to?" questioned the Praetor, his interests piqued.

The king paused for a breath before eyeing his trusted advisor oddly. "He knows that he will be the tactical commander and take part in strategic command which will for large part fall to me. My you look doubtful. Do you have no confidence in our combined offices?"

The Praetor looked at the king coldly. "I will take that last comment as an effect of your drink and think nothing of it."

The king leaned his head down into his forearm on the table's edge while laughing hysterically. "Right you are! The drink has gotten hold of my mind."

Now feigning concern, Henry the Praetor spoke sternly. "I believe that you have had enough for one night. You take this party to close to heart. It would be much better if you kept your head on your shoulders. Now, what other news might you have for me? Hmm? I'm sure nothing of any signifi-"

But the old man was cut off.

"I nearly forgot! I've been fretting about religion lately and-"

"Religion?"

"Yes, it's a long story. But made short I have decided to build the largest cathedral known to man, for all history near the border, no less. I have decided this to emphasize our nation's power. It will be great and remembered by all. I wish to begin construction immediately. Be sure to take that information to the mason's bureau for me."

Caught up in the heat of the moment, and drunk on wine as well as power Roger stood and called out at the top of his lungs.

"Attention! The Praetor and I have an announcement we'd like to make. It's something of a recent development and deserves to be heard in its conception by all. As we begin to build a Glorious Army of Engar in the coming days and weeks...hiccup... we would also like to declare a new construction near the border regions of Dorshen, or is it Telor'an. No matter. Anyway, we intend to have the full development of a cathedral, as large as it can be made and as glorious. It is to be a symbol of the times, of our potential and our harvest, how we wanted for nothing. Who is with me!"

With that everyone let out a roar of approval that deafened every ear and resonated across the palace. The servants peeked their heads into the hall to see what was going on and finding nothing out of order retired to the kitchen. Henry, gaunt and full of himself, waited and then caught the attention of the performing Jester before leaving his seat and exiting the hall from the guest entrance, stopping just outside the door in an effort to allow the Jester to catch up. Within the minute the funnily dressed man poked his head through the door and looked around, turning his head from left to right until he caught sight of his quarry. The plump Praetor stood there, smiling greedily, and they walked off down the hall together, hoping and suspecting that no one would catch sight of them. After the length of the hall they entered the reassuring warmth of the night, finding their way into the maze of the outdoor royal garden. The light of night was dampened by clouds as the moon was obscured. A light breeze kicked up and the duo, having said nothing, proceeded to chart a course through the darkness, the flowers, the bushes, and stone gravel under foot. The clouds shifted and the moon offered a full eerie backdrop. The Praetor patted a hand to his belly, clearly over nourished.

"Do you know why you are here?" offered the statesman.

"My suspicions are that you feel the need to make further preparations. Do not think me a fool. I picked up on a great deal of what was said. That maybe in the month the war would be started and waged. That victory could be forged or forgotten in the time it takes to make the march, from here to there."

"Further preparations? Try final preparations. I have a rock solid idea of the king's strategic ideology and components. He will undoubtedly first move through the undefended towns of the border region, striking there before swinging into the heart of Dorshen, looking for the capital to make this last battle and writing history."

"How can you sound so certain?" said the diligent Jester, cocking an ear to his fellow conspirator.

"I can be so certain," said Praetor. "Because I have known him and of him for years. And for years I have advised him through almost every course of action. As good as I am at reading his body language he may as well have told me his intentions himself."

Jester, jingling as they walked, clasped his hands behind his back and produced something close to a look of supplication marching along like the god soldier that he was. "I am glad at your clarity and wisdom, as well as your stake in the king. This all, and only, works to our advantage. So what of these final plans? What are they? How do you intend to use me, great leader?"

"I was thinking, and I have thought hard about this, that there would be no better way than for a rebel foot soldier, someone who is vengeful enough, to kill the king in the initial border attacks. Or, if we are lucky enough, a far louder message could be deliver if he were accidentally clipped by a spear in the final fight for your capital. But for now I need you to find potential soldiers, at least between now and the start of the fighting, to do the fell deed."

"Will you be searching for fighters also?" asked the Jester.

"Not in effect. I might to easily expose my poor allegiance to the throne and crown, and the monarchy, and every sour thing that goes along with it. I have a sound mind telling me that I would invariably fail in my efforts, be blackmailed sold and captured by this government and tortured for treason. No, my friend, this task falls to you."

"I understand. We are seeking someone angry at the crown, at its excessive and illegitimate use of force. At the farce it has made of the common man and the foul dynasty which it seeks to preserve."

"So you do understand." said the Praetor.

Chapter Fifteen

Roger, fully intoxicated and chuckling internally about his developing speech slur, had just noticed that the Praetor was missing. He had turned his head in his would be direction to make some joke or comment but found himself staring directly at air and a vacant seat. Looking on he realized that the Praetors feast chair was almost as extravagantly made as his own and became slightly jealous, which seemed to pass in a wave as he thought nothing of it. He then thought loudly that the man he trusted must have gone on to the bathroom for relief, but he couldn't be sure, with the kernel of suspicion still burning its embers in his heart.

For once he felt guilty, which had little to do with himself. As he pondered the implications of the emotion that hid behind his eyes, which watered in part with tear that welled up in his breast and chest where it lurked, he coughed. It must be the incident at the chapel, or if not that the reports from the north of petty magicks like fog, twisting in his skull. Wallowing in pity he sat nailed to his chair and rigid, before taking another full goblet of currant and sucking it dry. The wine must be playing tricks with his mind, he thought, because a king must feel no guilt. But still the pangs stabbed at him. It came from the notion that he, alone, would decide the fates of thousands of men in the present, pitting them against each other, man to man, like dogs. How would he feel, he thought, if he were jammed into a well oiled war machine and instructed to fight and die, or die either way. It was too much for him to bear. Maybe it was whatever god that he had perhaps felt at the chapel toying with him again.

He doubted it. It could be just as likely that whatever force, be it magic or mayhem, that was at work in his scouting reports, could be at work here.

Without the Praetor's comforting bulbous shoulder to whisper and talk into he fell apart, sliding into his drunken stupor, going on in his head and willing to believe almost anything. He tried to force a laugh. It was all so stupid. Magic. God. He came closer to his senses, feeling more full of his pride at the strength of his reasoning on any good day, and decided that he was letting his prehensile fears get the better of him, and making him feel the worst.

The feast was nearly at an end and sleeping quarters were offered to all who needed them, in the guest wing. The king, battling down his shame and guilt, pushed his large chair back from the table and stood, just as the feast goers themselves had taken to filtering out of the room to bed. Hours had passed since the beginning of the festivities and Roger, thinking as clearly as he could get away with, slid his chair back in and bade Hector a good night. Staggering off down the corridor, rocking wildly back and forth, he set his sights on safely and securely making his way to his bed chambers. He passed by many of his noble countrymen, all to boozed to say or do anything of merit, and greeted them with pats on the shoulder and sweeping handshakes. They didn't ignore him but instead shouted their whoops and guffaws, telling every one to make way and clear the hall for his passage.

Having successfully navigated the hallway and stumbling to the ground just twice he leaned against his door to catch his wind and closed his eyes, tired. A minute or two later he opened them, not wanting to fall asleep leaning on the door, now afraid that he might slide or tumble to the unforgiving stone beneath him. Summoning the last of his strength he struggled with the door, getting it open, then fell across the room and into his bed where he immediately let his eyelids droop, then close, sending him into a deep vexing sleep. All the while that he was losing consciousness he thought to himself why did I do it? Why did I announce the construction of a cathedral, I was too drunk, but there was little he could do about it now.

It was an hour past midnight and all was still. A cloaked figure, wearing the darkness like a garment, wrapped his guise closer to his face. He gathered what he was carrying in his hand, a note written in ages past, and made his way down the street, headed in the direction of the royal palace. He ducked and dodged from alleyway to alleyway doing his best to stay hidden. The streets of Verlan were empty and abandoned to the night and the taste of sleep was now in the air. The man was drowsy in his old age, not at all pleased that he would have to be awake at this late an hour, but he had people to see and things that needed doing, and nothing could stop him when he had a mind to do something.

The city as it slept was a thing of beauty, and he had never truly taken the time to appreciate it. All the houses and shops, by this hour, were totally blotted out by inky darkness. The keen eye from a distance could however make out the long rows of near endless streets that were rooted in the ground, and the trees the sprouted here and there along the roadside. Even though they were clearly and decoratively planted by helping human hands one couldn't help but enjoy them.

Mr. Matane, the book keeper, had a strong message to be delivered and he veered around the nighttime world passing at last by his own shop which seemed in the dark to belong to a different time, a different world. Passing by this it was a matter of seconds before he came to the gate to the royal palace, which in his experience was always left unlocked. Lucky for him, now was no exception. Hugging his cloak to himself to cover his face he slipped inside the palatial compound letting the large iron gate swing in on its hinges. No one had taken any note. Creeping along the stairs that were cut into a hillside he did his best to remain tied to what little was left of the shadows, with the moon shining its full rays of reflected light down on the path before him. He stopped forty paces or so from the door to the palace itself, being the only door in sight. It was unfortunately guarded by one man, clad in armor. Mr. Matane cursed himself, he should have been better prepared for this. Counting his losses he then reminded himself that it was only one man and pawed around inside of his clothing for a dagger. No, he thought as he stopped his search, that would be brutal and uncalled for. So instead he picked a hefty stone from nearby on the turf and began sneaking as close to the door as possible without being seen. He looked his opposition over, unsurprised to find a guard at even this late hour. After all, the king had his neck to protect.

When he shored up as close as he could get he hurled the rock and it soared through the air, clanking loudly against the roof about fifty paces from where the guard was posted. Even though the guardsman's eyelids were drooping, and his wakefulness failing, a noise like that was too loud to ignore. He left his post, just as the hidden Mr. Matane expected and stumbled off to check the source of the noise. Mr. Matane struck quickly, running across the small courtyard that separated him from the door and wrenched it open, sliding inside and shutting it behind him. Again, no one had noticed.

Unsure of where he actually was, but fairly certain that no guards would be lurking around seeing as there had never been any recorded palace incursions in history, it seemed unlikely that their would be a post hanging about. He began to methodically check every door, careening around the corridors opening each one enough to peek in and see who was there. After three quarters of an hour of sneaking he finally found his mark. It was a secluded room decorated by a wood door that stood higher them himself when fully stretched and had a ship carved into it, rearing as it massed on the head of a wave. With his head firmly in the chamber he noticed in all his searches that this man wore a crown. He might be operating ahead of the initial schedule but it was nearing time to do the deed.

The room wasn't entirely darkened. As a small candle that had once been large was rapidly burning itself down to the stub. Standing over the man there, awkwardly draped across the bed as though he were a fallen tree, Mr. Matane took some small time to watch the man sleep before he set about his business. Smelling fermented drink on the air he could only surmise that at one time the king had to have been drunk, if he was not still at this hour. He silently reached into his effervescent cloak and removed a letter that he had been expected to deliver, a letter that had left cold hands in ages past. Placing it on the edge of the bed he cupped a hand over the king's limp face to cover his mouth. With that now done he vigorously shook him back to life, waking him from his deep slumber.

At first thought the king had no idea what was going on, being too far removed from himself by the simple escape that sleep offered. Then he realized, slowly but surely, that he was being rocked back to consciousness by some force. He counted his options and made the decision that it was Henry, that it must be Henry, his faithful Praetor, come to quell his paranoid misgivings and give him the latest news as to whether Dorshen had somehow discovered the plans for an attack. If they had the Praetor would have done more than just woken him in the night, he would have made sure he had know at the soonest possible moment.

A wave of anxiety hit as he left the tempting world of slumber behind.

"Henry... Henry?" he stammered. "What is it? Have they discovered our plans? Why do you wake me?"

The king, staving of his pressing tiredness, peeled the crumbs of sleep from his eyes, opening and testing them reflexively before seeing that he was not being greeted by his most trusted advisor at all, but someone else, some stranger wrapping him up in his cloak.

"Be at ease." the stranger said smoothly. "It is I, your loyal servant, and I have some news to deliver, a message actually, from your father."

Roger, ready to scream at the man waking him, readily stifled it in his throat and joyously took a breath of air, as though the truth he had heard couldn't get any sweeter. "My father you say. But he is long dead. Why would you torment me, are you here to rob me or take me hostage? Whatever it is it won't work."

"I both plead with you and assure you it is none of that. It concerns the fog. I am the book keeper that you encountered today. And years ago, your father left to investigate that very phenomenon, actually in the months preceding his death, leaving the message with me after his return from the north. He told me that if he had died or was incapable of delivering his message to you during the time of your reign that I was to do so. He picked me because he did not believe he could trust the members of the royal court. He knew of my bookshop, which was new at that time, and had paid his guards to poor through the legends and lore there, as there was no true historical account of the northern fog." His message was written and he made me swear to him that I would do it in secret. I would have told you and left the message in the book you took today but someone was present." whispered the book keeper.

"I remember your name." said the king softly. "You are Mr. Matane. Let us suppose that you are telling the truth. Then maybe you were right to approach me in the dead of night. I may yet come to admire your loyalty, though I confess a letter from father was one of the things I would have wanted most and least expected at this time. Let's see it then."

Mr. Matane fumbled around at the edge of the bed, where he had left the ledger and recovered it bringing it to his eyes to check the seal before handing it over to his royal majesty, in the dim flickering light. The book keeper, as if he had nearly forgotten, began to jabber again, his plump lips moving fiercely.

"He told me that he had found a strange fog there that had could not defeat, but only agitate. He wanted me at all cost to keep you from it as he had heard reports that the phenomenon was growing and offered strange portals to a new world. He as much as said that he had not himself directly encountered any, but when he moved to conquer the place patrols kept routing until he met a strange man. This man, he said, was there also to rid the world of the fog, though he offered no clues to how he would do so as one man. He had a powerful way about him and managed to gain your father's trust. What happened then I cannot say, suffice to say that the book of legend that you took today is closer to fact and not fiction, which that man somehow managed to prove to your father. "

The secretive book keeper then slipped off the bed leaving Roger there with millions of questions, both large and small, buzzing around inside his head. Slipping out the door through which he came without so much as a good night or good bye the man found his way, wrapped in shadow and darkness, to the door to the outside where one guard stood watch.

The king, thinking about how Mr. Matane would get around the guardsmen, quickly stopped caring, deciding that it would be his problem. For now he had learned of a terrible truth, or so he hoped, his mind lingering somewhere on the border between real and the imagined. He did not like it. Everything was supposed to be clear-cut and succinct for him of all people. War and glory, time and temperance. None of this nonsense about dangerous and looming fog. It was all such utter nonsense to him that he was having a hard time digesting it. Maybe a well rested head would know what to think, he thought to himself as he drifted out of consciousness. Or maybe he was so drunk the night before that he had hallucinated the entire ordeal. No matter. With that he was asleep again.

The morning came slowly. The fires of the dawn sun burned at the tops of buildings and trees in and around Verlan. It was a beautiful and pleasant sight for the common folk of the region, who had always and without fail rose before or with the sun to get their chores done. The same was true for the servants of the royal palace, who moved about helter skelter, preparing breakfast for the king, washing linens, tending to the famed gardens, and keeping the grounds as clean as could be.

But the king never came to breakfast, or even to his morning meetings, not that any of them were made to resemble anything official. Instead he overslept. Resting there cradled in the bosom of his large soft bed, splayed out akimbo, he dosed unknowing of the world that turned evenly and efficiently without him as a part of it. That alone would have been enough to drive him jealous. After several extra hours in bed he awoke, thinking of the middle of the night before and how this could have only been him living some frightening bad dream. But it wasn't. With the handmade paper in his hand that was sealed with red wax and the old royal emblem, one he had not seen in ages, he felt small and alone. Looking it over and feeling it in between his fingers, it grainy surface pressed smooth, and the new chance at life it offered, he then wondered what important clue to his past it had showed.

He went aggressively over the facts in his head. A man came to visit him that night, a man who claimed he had a message from his father. The message told him to avoid the fog, which he could easily do, but it also came from his father. He couldn't bear it, it made no sense. He hadn't cared that much for his father, but then with him completely out of the picture his emotions for him were different, stronger, and more potent, as if the bonds he forged in his father's absence made his paltry love for him more real. It was much easier to love him with him dead, that much he was sure of, but as he sorted himself out he became more and more curious as he whittled away the hours, as to just what his supposed father would have had him do.

All said and done he decided not to open the letter, not because he didn't believe that it was genuine, though he had his doubts, but because it might be too much to bear. It rested there on the bed now, longing for his touch. He only eyed it suspiciously trying to pry it open with his mind before using his hands. Feeling lighter without the letter in hand, he made his way from his room off to find his Praetor and determine what he might have to say on the coming conflict, but then thought better of it, deciding that his advisor might be prone to taking lethal action. Instead he would find the man for different reasons.

His belly still full from the night before skipping breakfast didn't weigh heavily on his heart or conscience. With guards posted periodically around the palace as he made his way down the winding corridors he then thought to ask one of them if they had perchance seen the Praetor on this bright morn that had nearly become noon. One consented that he had seen him poking about with the military staff, talking to the generals and their underlings. Roger then promptly changed his direction and headed off to the section of the palace that he had cordoned off for exclusive strategic use and sure enough he found his man there babbling with the heads about this and that.

"Make sure that these men are provided for, when we name them. I want their every need taken care of." said the Praetor to his aide as the king rounded the corner and came into earshot.

"Right sir. When can we expect to have the list of their names?" asked the ferret like man wearing a blue surcoat.

"Know that I will have them lined up by the end of the week. I am waiting on...results... so to speak. I have a friend who knows much if not all there is to know about being a member of the royal guard and I would like to use the results of his advice. And seeing as you are in command of who will be protecting his majesty throughout his campaigns, which now seem inevitable, you can make them his personnel. It is that small favor I ask of you." said Henry soothingly.

"And have it you will. I am glad to see that you take such personal interest in his majesty's safety. I wish we had ten more men such as yourself." said the aide.

"Well we can't all be perfect."

They both laughed loudly and in unison at the twist that the Praetor had thrown in just seconds before the king stalked up to them.

"Am I interrupting something?" asked the king.

"No not at all." continued the aide. "Henry here was just assuring that you will be entirely safe and guarded on the battle field."

"Really." spoke the king. "And what preparations did he make?"

"Only that you be surrounded by the most decent fighters that we can manage so that nothing can truly go wrong." said the aide again.

The Praetor was growing impatient though no one could sense it, and his face was doing everything it could to hide a scowl. "Yes majesty. I was only doing everything I knew how to keep you safe. You above all others should know what you mean to me. How would I continue on without you?"

"Hahaha..."laughed the king heartily."I see what your angle is. No harm done. But on another note I have come to you as I have many times before to ask your help and advice. So you see it is I that values you above all others."

"Ha..." laughed the Praetor shortly.

The king, losing himself to his trust began in earnest. "What I meant to talk to you about was the cathedral. What have you already done to assure that it will be built?"

"Thus far," said Henry. "Nothing. And that is only because I did not seriously know whether you would build it, seeing as you only made the announcement after you had become totally drunk."

"True enough," said the king. "But now that I have committed myself to such actions in front of my nobles I know that I must follow through on it. No way would I allow myself to lose their trust. That would be an absolute disaster. "

The Praetor looked sincerely concerned and it echoed in his voice. "You cannot seriously consider going back on your word in this matter a betrayal. Surely they will understand your good intentions, that you were merely a drunken fool when you decided this, if you will forgive the adage. You are not to blame."

"Wrong you are, for once in your life. They would have my head and that would be just the opportunity they'd need. No use in pretending. So you see, my friend, I am as good as my word and will deliver on my promises. Besides, if it means appeasing them I will gladly have included all the names of the men and women at the feast on a list of those who supported the endeavor. An eternal list. That should by itself buy their trust, thanks, and praise if anything. They would forever be remembered as the men and women who made real on the social promises of nobility and kingdom, in plain sight and for all to see." continued the king.

"I suppose that you want me to consult with the Master of masonry and construction, post haste. Is there a particular town or spot on the map that you intend to deliver this project of enormous vision to? Or are we still scrabbling around in the dark." inquired the wondering Praetor.

"As a matter of fact a few names come to mind, so we are not totally lost here. The city of Gricene, would that not be appropriate? Or perhaps if not there than a city, along the Telor'an border would have as equally large an impact." said the king, as if to pacify his friend.

"Of course! Gricene! Why didn't I think of that? It would be the perfect location and the peoples of Dorshen would have to notice it for certain. Let us do this together. We will order the design stage starting today and construction will begin within the week, before you ever immortalize yourself as a warrior it will be done more appropriately as a man of god. If I may be so polite to ask, what tipped the scales so that you would manifest the future and history of our people in this way, as opposed to any other?"

The king slowed his walk, taking each step with renewed interest, as if each one led to the most important thing in the world. "Perhaps..." he then stopped to think. "Perhaps it is the everlasting mystery. How we and the world came to exist. Surely something must have created it, and some force must have created the universe. But what created the force behind that? What would the first forces of creation be? Could not god be involved? I believe if we are to understand the unknown we must discern the many embellishments of it, not just the first and final thought that self defines all. It is too sad that we have all so readily fallen prey to that."

"Truly spoken, O wise king. The unknown, you say. Well so be it. We will have our cathedral." said the Praetor as if trying his words out.

They kept working at their meanderings and questions, of neither here nor there, of makings and beginnings, until they had adjusted the course, traveled and reached the working quarters of the Master of masonry of construction. His area, while technically an extension of the university, was large and spacious, filled with texts, scripts, and tomes about ancient architecture and construction techniques ranging from everything about wall building to aqueducts. The room's sole table was made from rare imported woods and lacked any of the festive carvings that one might expect in the royal palace, traded instead for a higher functionality as it was carrying loads upon loads of stacked parchments. The man himself was a small shrew like fellow missing most of the hair off the top of his head and wearing scholar's robes instead of a surcoat or pants.

They were all white and had delicate patterns of swirls and spirals sewn into them. They could tell by looking at him that he spent the greater part of the day trying to keep his whites clean. There was dust flitting around the room and just as the king was beginning to wonder whether or not the room actually ever got used he sneezed, and the Master spoke.

"You must be the king." he said surreally. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Indeed I am, and this chubby fellow here with me is my Praetor. We come in the name of peace, unlike many of the other visits we may have to make today."

The Praetor blew air from his mouth, toying with the eddies and currents of dust that moved through the free space. "Actually we bring you a matter of great importance." said the Praetor, picking up where the king left off. "We, or rather the king here, have made it public knowledge that an amazing and beautiful, fulfilling and powerful cathedral is to be built."

"Is that so?" inquired the Master sourly. "And I suspect you need, require, or otherwise mandate my involvement. Who is to design it?"

"You and all others who are suitably intelligent to get the job done." put forth the king.

"Where is it to be built and in what time frame?" asked the Master.

The king responded just before the Praetor had the chance to, his mouth agape. "It is to be built in Gricene, and it is to be built as quickly as can be done by human hands so I suggest that you get started now. Call upon everyone in the kingdom that you think will be of benefit and begin drawing up designs immediately. This project is practically the reason that you are kept on board with us."

"Even working full speed," said the Master calmly, looking into each of their eyes. "This project will be a long time in the makings. I estimate that at least three harvest cycles will be taken in its design and construction, if not more."

"Then you'd better get started. You should begin by making it public knowledge throughout the land. You might attract workers and architects, and even raise the people's opinion of their fair king."

The Master of masonry and construction stood there speechless in his own way, wondering at the audacity of the two men before him. He took his orders in stride and calmly set about to execute them, taking leave of his overlord's, who had commanded the project with the snap of a finger, and went to find a way to notify the public and gain a base of support. Meanwhile, the king and the Praetor had peeled away from his presence, recognizing that he was clearly becoming more and more distraught. They spent the rest of they day in each other's company and it became fairly easy for the king to forget the letter that had to all supposition come from his father's hand to his own. It no longer niggled at the back of his mind, or burrowed into his head to get at his thoughts, it just became a missed issue, one that he did not mention to the man he spent the day talking to and handling royal business, worried what he might do to the messenger who delivered it, considering how he had gained his audience.

Many hours later when the day winded down and there was nothing left to be said and even less to be done he returned to his room on a full stomach from a gorgeous meal and then it hit him full force. A wave of anxiety, of becoming, of whether or not he could trust the message laying neatly on the bed where he had left it, unremembered and staring politely at the ceiling. It was now or never, he told himself. And with the word _now_ resounding in his thoughts he picked it up and peeled away the waxen seal opening the letter to his face and before his eyes. What he saw was a sprawling script with curves and dips scribbled on the parchment. It read:

"To my son, Roger, who should by all rights be the next to wear or bear the royal crown. I have found a great many things of late, none that I would have thought possible had I not seen with my own eyes. I council you, if the message even comes to you, avoid this fog at all costs. According to a source of information that I did not necessarily consider a reliable one, but now whose advice I value all the more, this fog comes and it goes, apparently out of its own whim and brings with it foul change. He told me that he came representing a secret society, the Enfuriae, which you yourself might recognize had the man who I instructed to hold this message for me had been concise in delivering the book of lore that offered some explanation for it. You may be wondering why I thought to inform you of this plight through a book of lore and that is because I have always thought of you as a child and in my eyes a child you shall remain. I hope you see that. But on the whole I came from a situation that you may find familiar. Reports came in that a strange fog had brewed in the north so naturally it alone aroused my interest so I personally and somewhat foolishly, took a battalion in to investigate. What we encountered was unimaginable. At first we had no idea what we were dealing with. We thought that the fog was entirely man made and guised engines of war that would invade our lands. We were wrong. Instead a man, hidden among my soldiers, came forth when it became clear that we would not leave. He told me that he was a member of that society and that they were invested in keeping the land free of fog. When I pressured him, as I was in disbelief he told me that he struggled against a malign and old evil that dwelt in these lands. He stated that this evil had incredible awesome power and that myself and my men were to leave at once, for safety sake. When it became clear that I thought him to be a spy working against us he offered to let me see it. He took me alone, for I felt no fear of attack from him as he was half the warrior I was, to view it. He refused to tell me what it was or mention its name saying instead that employing its symbols or names might invoke its wrath. I began to think him a liar until I saw it with my own eyes. It was tucked away in ruins floating some one hundred feet off the shredded tundra. It glowed brilliantly in the lack of light, as it was night when I saw it, but emanated its own dark rays that seemed to illuminate but at the same instance drain light to it. It was fairly small, or so my guide said, compared to what it could have been. It was spherical and only twenty feet in diameter and crawling with marks and symbols that turned in my stomach. As I remember it the symbols were dark purple and indigo and seemed without end. My guide told me that it was best if I did not approach it or even look at it for to long, as its power might consume me. I came to believe every word he had said after that and I conveniently allowed him to pass out of my command instead thinking that his society, which he told me knew of this strange thing, would handle it. That is all I had to say. After we had left, within the month, the fog had all but disappeared which I attributed to the work of the Enfuriae. But heaven knows. I hope that all has gone well in your reign, though mine must have been better, and that one day I might deliver this message to you personally rather than secondhand. I wish you power and honor. For now, goodbye."

There was no signature and as he finished reading it a tear played at his eye and rolled down his cheek. It _was_ too much to bear. He longed for his father after this letter had taken him totally by surprise. But he could deal with the shock. Besides he had better things to worry about, like how his little war would turn out. Sighing, he took the letter to the candle and let it catch aflame, incinerating as it did so, ash floating off in the draft. Having had his fill of nonsense for the day, or so he told himself, sleep would be welcome. And sleep he did.

Chapter Sixteen

Silas had spent the better part of the day working, and now sweat rolled down his unclothed back in the face of the noonday sun. He had gotten the opportunity to muck a local stable in a benign effort to pay back his friends for their kind sponsorship, so that he could stay at the inn for the few nights that he had been there. They intended to purchase horses as cheaply as possible over the next few days and then ride for Verlan and freedom. Lately however there had been talk of a project that had interested them. A cathedral, or so the posted signs said that fast riding horsemen had set up throughout the towns of the kingdom. Other signs, which frequently were made from already used paper, posted a draft that each town, city or village was to post a certain number of fighters from their population to work on behalf of the king and lands in the coming war, which was now as absolute as the blue sky. Silas was scared, to say the least. All it would take would be for a group of people, anybody really, to accuse him of dodging the fight and consequently treason. While Silas didn't put much stock in the king's bold plans for warfare he fully acknowledged that with his consistent luck there was a strong chance he would be sucked into the fray. He loathed war but if confronted, rather than face imprisonment, fines, or even potentially death he would form up the rest of the grunts and battle on as commanded. Better safe than sorry, if that course of action could be considered safe at all.

But back to the task at hand.

In the burning sun he took his long shovel and heaved, pulling the unpleasant smelling hay mixed with manure from the stall and onto a wheel barrel. Once the wheel barrel was filled to the brim he carted it off around to the side of the barn and dumped it on the growing pile of muck that he had worked so hard at all day. It was nothing for him. He wasn't too bothered by it, though he blamed himself. He could have been home with his one true love Mary, but instead, by his own admitted foolishness he had ended her frail beautiful life. He deserved to go off to war, he told himself, it was all his fault. Or maybe, he thought, he was just telling himself these things to better pass the hours.

His buddies had drifted off aimlessly to explore the town. They had visited the forge, he was certain, because they had talked about it all last night making it impossible for him to sleep. He envied them. Their lives were so simple to understand, filled with travel and simple delights. Perhaps they had tried to pick up some traveler's tales from the local tavern. That would be a pleasant surprise he thought, as his shovel moved methodically. But he knew them better than that. Ever since he had pointed out the poster with the summons for all who had the skill to join in the construction of the cathedral they had been all abuzz about that and little else. While he couldn't directly see himself as working on a project of those proportions he would readily go along with the flow they created just to feel needed, wanted, as he once had.

He finished his work early and ran off to collect his pay, some hours later. With the hard scent and feel of coins in his hand it was hard to wallow in self pity as he had done the majority of the time spent working. On the bright side, he concluded, at least there were still several hours of daylight left. He hurried back to the Inn to clean himself up and pay the tab, feeling like a far bigger man as he did so.

Once freshened up and into cleaner clothes with no thought or burden on his mind he again realized that there would be no way he could afford a horse on his own, and he was certain that he would break away from the group as he doubted they would purchase one for him. But as he caught up with them at the local perfumery, where he suspected they would be considering their high interest in chemicals of every brand and bottle. They were walking among and between the large cylindrical vats of chemicals and oils that had summer flowers soaking in them as well as juices extracted from fruits, eyeing them with a particular interest. The building that housed this selection of instruments and materials was made from planks of wood. It was unfortunately a poorly constructed building and light from the glowing sun seized entry through the cracks of planks that made up the walls, where in some places it was possible to peer through to the outside world. The roof was stable, despite it all, and the building stood proud near the outskirts of town. It had taken Silas sometime to find them since he was operating solely on suspicion, yet he still succeeded.

"I just finished my labors for the day." said Silas heavily.

"Good job then." replied Hap.

"Not entirely. A problem arose. One that I realized after I paid the innkeeper. There is no way that I'll have enough gold or silver to pay for a horse which means that we will likely have to part ways." said Silas sadly.

"We'd never let that happen. Having you around since the day that we met you has been an absolute honor." chimed in Kaplin. "We'll all pitch in, won't we boys?"

They all looked around and shrugged at one another before collectively agreeing. It was settled, and as Silas thought about it he realized that their compassion knew no bounds. They had taken him in stride and cared for him, becoming the only friends that he had left in the world. He made up his mind to pay them back at the soonest opportunity.

"I am deeply indebted to you all, in more ways than we could count on one hand. You have been there for me as only true friends and compatriots would. But know this, I will be sure to pay my debt to you all as soon as can be made possible." stated Silas plainly.

"Well hoorah then, Silas, even though you know you don't have to." said Reid, poking fun at him.

"So what has transpired while I have been hard at work today?" questioned Silas diligently.

"We made final our plans to leave for Verlan tomorrow. If we have any fortune maybe we can get our horses from that stable you've pitched tent working for. He might allow us a discount seeing as we are close friends of yours. Aside from that we have stayed around town today as enthusiastic wayfarers almost. We found that this great laboratory existed and so naturally we spent the vast majority of the day here, studying its mechanics." said Luca, looking pleased with himself.

"So what's the great secret about the perfumery? Find out anything terribly interesting?" inquired Silas.

"No." continues Luca. "Only that it is an inexact science. It is enormously difficult to do any work of merit, or create a decent fragrance in working order. I also noted that in no way would I want to spend the rest of my life working here, though the fact remains that those who work here are quite happy with themselves."

The conversation dried up, which was unusual as the lively band of friends almost never ran out of things to say. Instead they mad their way back to the main road and ambled along down the street until they arrived at the inn. They had nothing planned for the evening and let time slide by. Silas had gone to his old self again, sulking about how perverse fate was and wondering why he couldn't have been a brighter man and realized that nothing good could have come from arousing the town. After hours of his silent misery he fell asleep early drifting off into his dream world.

The night had claimed hold of Silas as he twisted and turned in his visions on the bed near the window that filtered in only moonlight. His mind was flipping through wild revelations that became more and more livid by the second. He could feel control of himself slipping away. He was walking, in this dream, down a stony path and there were people, everyone singing and dancing. No one was in their homes or under any sort of cover which he could sense though he didn't know how, and they all called out, twisting and turning, making motion that had an unreal rhythm to them, almost as if it could command them all to act out of turn. Then the images faded and he was made to morph along with them, losing all desire to resist. Whatever led them was truly wonderful, he felt, and deserved their affections. This continued for some time before he and he alone among the countless masses broke free, now angry and with a bitter determination to warn them, all of them, that what they morphed for was to dangerous a thing to entangle themselves with.

Then he was transported, the world was blurry and he stood on a ledge over looking a brilliant shimmering sphere that called to him, not like the other voice, the one that had made him dance, but softer and less corrosive, more forgiving, as if it desired nothing but for him to be free. Then he awoke.

He reached across the bed to a nightstand that stood proudly by the side of the bed and grasped around in the darkness for a small washing cloth, courtesy of the inn, to wipe the many beads of sweat from his pitted face. With that said and done he could hardly say he felt refreshed, as the distress of what he had lividly dreamed was still gripping him. He looked around in the darkness, his eyes trying their hardest to sort out relevant information from the silhouettes and moon shadow, but to no avail.

He was deeply troubled. He couldn't explain the queerness that he had seen in his mind and now it made him feel somehow different, calloused, as though the growing seed of familiarity was now sown in his brain. He did not want it there. He thought of it all as a great indelicate invasion of his free will. And the faces. Those people moving and turning, in patterns he could sense as well as see, were dumb. It looked as if the perpetual feeling of surprise had been posted on their brows and cheeks, or as though they had been hewn from clay and falsely molded to resemble dispirited husks. Nothing about them was free, that, he realized, was their defining feature.

And how would he tell Hap, or Kaplin. The more he thought about it the more embarrassed he became until he finally decided to keep the entire thing to himself. No one would have to know. No one would have to see how weak he had been, how animal like and small.

His eyelids drooped over his eyes, hanging lower and lower before he at length fell back into sleep. Though he was worried about another dreamscape encounter he couldn't help but doze off, it was too late at night to argue with the facts of nature. Sleep always offers itself and is seldom denied.

Sunlight slowly filtered through the glass window, gradually illuminating the dust mites that lingered and floated in the air. It struck the floor leaving a golden splash of light on the hard wood. Eventually, it came down crashing on Silas face, burning patterns into his retina that were bright orange and red, even through closed eyes. He crunched his face up in an effort to hold his own against the growing warm on his face. It was no use; he had already woken and lost the favor of the more comfortable sleep that he had found after his ordeal. Open eyes soon shielded themselves with a rough hand, rough from hours of work with a shovel, and blocked out the shining light before he flipped entirely out of bed sitting on the side upright yawning and stretching. For some strange reason, he noticed, he was alone in the room. His friends must have woken with the early dawn rather then wait for its gentle assault on senses. He stood, then toppled back to the bed, disoriented. He then reminded himself that he should have at least checked his standing legs out last night rather than allow himself to be riveted to the bed like a dead duck. It was no matter though. He worked around the problem by getting back at it again, standing to the best of his ability and forcing his legs to hold form before stiffly making them march. The more he thought about it the more he came to think that his muscles must have had spasms during his dream. Not that he had felt it. Glad that he was back in some working order he clothed himself and headed downstairs in to small group of people before getting a tin cup filled with water from the taverns barkeeper.

His thirst now sated he wondered where his friends had gotten to, opening the door and plowing into the warm air of the outside day, the day that cared little for what he had endured, the one that was cold against him yet familiar. From the inn's door he could see the surrounding fields where farmers grew crop after crop of wheat and grain, tomatoes and heads of lettuce as well as grapevines and fruit trees. All was ripe and as he admired the great beauty that nature offered he summarily noticed a dust cloud stirring up along the road, from where he stood, out to the distance where he had been happily staring. It was none other than his group of friends; all seven of them charging up the road at a brisk walk. They all tugged on ropes connected to bridles around the heads and mouths of horses. For a moment he was deeply worried and regretted having run off without at least retrieving some money, thinking that he would not have a horse. But as they grew larger, looming in the dirt path he instinctively counted finding eight horses among them and was shocked and giddy, grateful that his friends had though so much of him. It was a paint horse, he saw, with brown fur that had large white blotches on it so that he couldn't directly tell what color it truly was.

They arrived at the door of the inn within the few minutes that it had taken to walk there.

"I guess you must have felt a little left behind when you woke and found us all missing. We only went out to barter for horses and we thought it would be best to let you get your sleep." said Dysion placidly.

"I confess I did think, if only for a split second, that you had taken off without me. I didn't realize that you were all so kind and thoughtful as to get a horse for little old me." responded Silas jubilantly.

"We only promised you we would. Besides, sneaking off is not our way." said Hap firmly.

"Well," said Luca distractedly. "I think that its time we got this show on the road. If we make good time on these beasts we'll be in Verlan within the next two days, and I'm eager to get moving."

"Why is that?" asked Kaplin.

"I've seen droves of men recruited to the army of the king, willingly an unwillingly and I think that if we get to Verlan and declare ourselves workmen for the Cathedral, which is something I look forward to, we might be able to dodge being funneled into that royal fool's war. We picked up this morning that they were instructed to group and head for the capital city to form themselves." said Luca passionately.

"I see your angle." said Silas reassuringly. As he looked along the road deeper into the town he could in fact see hordes of men gathering in the streets in order to make their way to Verlan also, so as to join in the formation of the royal army. "If anybody asks tell them we are also headed to Verlan, in part because it is true, but mostly because it will stave off suspicion."

"We are way ahead of you boss." said Jani.

They looked at one another each waiting for someone else to make the first move so Silas took action. He moved purposefully back into the inn and up the stairs collecting into his arms as much and as many of the traveling bags that his friends left in the room seeing as he had none of his own. Grappling with them and near falling down the stairwell he wrestled all that he had carried out the door and onto the horses where they all set about to following his lead or strapping bags to the horses. Within minutes they were done. They all tipped the innkeeper and said their goodbyes making headway for Verlan. As they passed by the growing throng that had assembled in the street to become soldiers, and it was not the first throng as a large group had formed and left the very day that the posters began to appear, they took on suspicious eyeing faces, unsure of how to conduct themselves.

It was abundantly clear that not all of those young strong men wanted to be there but were instead trying to avoid legal consequences. They looked onto the travelers with a high degree of undo jealousy and it seemed that one would cry out to them before Silas, in a better healthier mood, called out that they too were headed to the capital city. His cry did not fall on deaf ears. The men suddenly lost interest and let them pass unmolested.

The road was long and easy and they encountered no real or imagined threat; there was no hunger no fear and no irresolvable discomfort. They arrived in Verlan sooner than expected. They had at first seen thousands of tents pitched on the fringe of the city where the new military recruits had grouped themselves. As they got into the thick of them they realized that they were in a formidable sea of humanity, one that might become unpredictable and powerful at a moment's notice, at the king's notice. Doing their best to slink by, afraid that they might be singled out, they made the risky journey down the main road, thinking all the while that they should have snuck along a side road, up to the city's large walled gate. Once inside they breathed the long breathe of freedom and steeled their resolve to find the opportunity that had so drawn them to this great city to begin with.

Luckily for them not all the inns were filled to the overflow point, as they saw that there were so many in the city foreign to its comforts. They found a stable and inn, allowing their horses a much needed rest, taking also one for themselves. The inn was nameless and they spent one night there, enjoying all the pleasure of its creature comforts, before setting out the next day in search of the workshop for the great cathedral. With out a full understanding of what they were getting into they awoke in the morning, arising not too early but not to late, and tracked the project to the university at the palace where they gained entrance.

To eyes that had never seen anything like the palace before they were thunderstruck. It was a sprawling complex atop a hill with beautiful stone arches and columns as well as gardens and architecture that settled in their minds. Finding themselves fortunate they were greeted at the main entrance to the palace by a cadre of armored guards each one looking to out perform the other and jangling disconcertedly in their metal suits asking what Silas and his lot were all about.

"I say," challenged the guard loudly. "What are the bunch of you doing here at his royal majesty's gate?"

"Well, if you must know," said Hap in decent proposal. "We are intellectuals and inventors here to contribute to a new and profound project that we had heard rumor of."

"And what is that?" asked a second guard, oblivious to their concerns.

Hap looked at the man as if he were insane, but the spear clad man only glared back, thinking himself a man of duty. "Why the cathedral of course. We have some experience with construction techniques and matters of that nature. We know that we are wanted and that our help can be of service."

The gate suddenly swung on its hinges and opened up with the guardsmen stepping out of the way with the exception of one. He politely informed them that they would have to follow him to the shop where it was all taking place and they did so with enthusiasm. First they took a long path up to a massive three story building that was supported in no small part by pillars and intricately carved columns before they entered this complex, marveling at it all the way through to its bowels. Silas couldn't believe the extremity of wealth about the place. Golden vases and precious stones, tapestries and rugs all were littered about the confines. The guards seemed pleased with themselves as they observed the wide eyed guests speculating as to who could be so fortunate.

After minutes of walking they entered a maze of corridors before, after long, entering a spacious place with wooden tables scattered about and at least a dozen or so men in robes drawing with measuring sticks and compasses. The look on Luca's face, Silas noted, was one of absolute joy. They had discovered their calling. A man who wore all white robes and seemed a little aged but not severely so approached them, his body swaying gently but noticeably under the cover of cloth.

"Who might you all be? New recruits for the project I assume. Please, set your packs down and see what we are up to." The look on his face was one of a man who knew his place but was too pleased with him self and whimsical to care.

Hap looked at him and straight away realized that he must be the ring leader of the project they had stumbled into. The guard, seeing that his work was done, waited for the Master of masonry and construction to dismiss him, which he happily did with a glance and a curt smile.

"We were primarily inventors, as you would learn if you but took the grace of looking over our collections. We do, however have great experience with architecture and construction though you might not know from the look of it." said Kaplin, before introducing them all.

"I am Kaplin, and these are my friends and compatriots, my peers also. Their names are Reid, Jani, Silas, Hap, Dysion, Roderick and Luca." He said this while indicating who they were when speaking their names, and the Master took note.

The Master accepted stacks of papers from them with their latest architectural as well and intellectual designs, poring over them, but suddenly realizing that he had not received one from Silas. "Well, this is all well and good, you may set to work at once. We are now in the design stage and are working as fast as can be done without err. I look forward to you collaborations. But you, Silas, stay with me for a moment."

The others thought this rather odd but moved away into the group, at last free of the worries that had plagued them through out their travels. They began to review the drawings that had been taking shape, each man working own his own concept and sharing with each other. The master design, for now, was being handled by the man in white, but he was away from his work station.

"So, Silas, do you have any related experience to the task we are working one? To build a cathedral? It's difficult work and if you know nothing I'll see what can be done for you."

"Sadly, I do not have any knowledge from past experiences, but I have a clear idea of what may need to be done. With you permission I'd love to..."

But the Master cut him off, putting his hands up in mock defense of himself and peering at him through shuttered eyelids, smirking. "Silas, Silas, do not waste our time. With no knowledge whatsoever of what we are to accomplish here I fear you will only get caught underfoot. But if it's not too much I still have work for you."

Silas felt a hope well in his belly and though he was ready to cry for being held from his friends he stood strong. He thought for a moment that it was all to kind of the Master to still keep work for him. "I am deeply indebted to you then, for allowing me to offer anything at all." said Silas.

"That is not quite what I had I mind." said the Master lightly. "I have my own orders to operate out of. You are to join the Glorious Army of Engar. At the king's orders. He as much as stated that those who could not be recruited to this project should be funneled into the army. I will notify the guards before you leave."

Silas was shocked. He absolutely could not believe what he was hearing. He knew now that he was trapped. He could risk denying that he would be put in the army, but they would surely imprison him. He peeked around the Master's broad shoulders at his friends who had already absorbed themselves to the task at hand, but they hadn't heard a word of what was said. Not that they would have been able to do anything. The pit of his stomach filled with bile and he felt cornered, doomed." Please, not the army. I have no desire to..."

"But you must," cut in the Master. "The orders of the king were quite explicit. Guard! Guard!"

With that a guard came rushing in the room from just outside the doorway, making way directly towards the pair of them. The guard, in his chain mail with a helmet, looked confused.

"What is it sir?" asked the guard, looking on to the affairs being conducted here with wariness.

"This man would like to join the armed forces of his royal majesty to aide him in his many exploits and conquests. See to it that he is provided for. Personally. Take him to the recruitment dock and make sure that he signs up signs in and does not defect." said the Master longwindedly.

Silas put on his best display of fortitude, wondering if there would be a way out of this or if he was truly beyond help and trapped in the service of the king. He shored himself up as the guard wrapped his firm strong hand around his biceps and began to slowly tug him in the direction of the door. Just as he was about to be dragged off, and he had offered little struggle, one of his friends looked up at him and shouted.

"Where are you going" called out Luca, bewildered.

"I fear I must leave because, according to the man in charge I have no qualification to work on a project of this scope. Instead I am to be taken by the guard and blended into the army. It was nice to have known you all, and I pray that our paths will cross again." sobbed Silas irreverently. He had the look about him of a man who had fought his hardest and lost gallantly with nothing left to do but accept his fate.

"Perhaps a deal can be arranged. He can still be valuable to us, or at least away from the wars to come!" Luca was desperate now, feeling as though he had led his friend directly into the lion's den with nothing on him to defend himself. By the time Luca's wild-eyed face had come to understand what was bound to happen Silas was gone, escorted out of the room and back through the palace the way he had come, now taking no time to wonder at its artistry and design.

Within minutes he was outside again in the fresh air with only the airy singing of a bird to comfort him that chirped in concert with its fellows. It was too bad, Silas thought, that his life had taken on such poor fate. He rationalized what he was to be made to do, considering his options carefully. He would not run, he decided. He would instead stay with his unit and troop, because though he might be many things, he was not a coward.

Then, as if from nowhere, an inebriating wave of dullness struck, familiar in all its aspects. It was something he had felt before and he had likened it to being swabbed clean. It panged at him but this time at least he tried to offer resistance, no matter how feeble it became. Before he knew it he was on the outskirts of the city sitting on a chair in a tent with the Guard who had removed him from the palace, who had placed a steady hand on the hilt of his sword, though he had made no move to draw it from its leather scabbard. The tent was larger than most of the other tents in the surrounding area by far. It had a few tables with papers and maps floating about but what he soon came to recognize as an officer, from his breastplates insignia and his sway with the others in the tent, approached him with a paper. The man was tall and broad, very well defined by muscle and tanned too, with a low brow. His chest was covered by a blue cloth shirt that had seen better days and he wore pants that had been cut off into shorts for the summer heat.

The parchment he carried, or rather list as Silas soon discovered, contained the signatures or marks of those who had been put into the army in the order of their arrival and upon seeing it Silas new the game was up. He was to join the military, something that if he had been asked two weeks ago he would have said was a stark impossibility. But now it was a reality.

"Here, young man. Take this parchment and make your mark or put your name. You're a fighter today and my only regret is that you weren't born one. And wipe that sad look from off your face. There are thousands of recruits who in my estimation don't want to be here. Get over yourself."

Chapter Seventeen

An eagle soared high, dropping and diving in toward the earth, spying for some clue as to the rodent's whereabouts that would make him a fine meal. Its feathered wingtips beat against the air, letting the whipping wind slide pass until it broke form and began to glide, unsure of where its prey might be. Silas looked up, laying on his back among a sea of tents on the plains of Verlan, seeing the creature take glorious flight with his hands stuffed behind his head for support. He could have sworn that it looked directly at him. He had signed his name to a paper days ago and his life had seen nothing les than radical change. He had been issued a steel sword and scabbard, as he had no talent for archery and had no inclination to use any other weapon. Also in his care was a leather armor chest plate and a funny looking helmet made from what his commanding officer told him was the strongest of metals, though he couldn't quite place what metal it was. Things had suddenly begun to look up for Silas. Even though he would leave at the soonest chance if it were offered to him, the vacuum of camaraderie that he had expected to tear him down had been well filled by his fellow men in his company.

They had begun to train together since the first day he had arrived and now that writing his name was entirely a thing of the past he felt much lighter, as though a burden had been removed, as if for some small part he had found his place once again. He had heard from his traveling friends within that time. They had come down to the encampment looking for him, thinking that he could be freed but when they found him he merely told them that he would not shuck the path before him, that he had already put himself into the issue and it was nothing for them to worry about anymore, seeing as he would invariably run into recruiters again, if he left, who would likely try the same maneuver and force him to join twice over. There was no sure way for him to defect and he felt his confidence growing with each passing hour, staving away his inclination to run off into the woods.

His friends merely commented that they understood his choices when confronted with destiny and would not interfere.

Training was harsh. He was forced to parry and jab with his fellow soldiers using wooden swords, learning techniques like thrust and slash. Beyond that there were many tasks designed to raise physical endurance such as hauling large stones for long distances, and sprint races to keep the men competitively agile. There was hardly a moment's rest and so now he was entirely grateful for the time he had to stare at the sky and look for a cloud to wish on. Instead he had spotted the eagle almost as soon as it had spotted him.

They had assembled the better part of their forces and were to begin marching within the next three days. All the men here had gone from a rabble to a regimented killing machine, though the weight of the fact that they would be challenged to take human life had not set in yet. No one he had met, with the exception of a few lifelong officers, had ever truly killed. He and others never had the enormity of what they were being called to do set in. They were clean, pure, and waiting to be sullied.

In most cases the soldiers who were recruited, by force or otherwise, were promised booty and gold as pay for their efforts if they should survive, which was often underscored. The men had come to expect that the war in which they were entwined was nothing more than child's play, that with the element of surprise and of initiative on their side there could be little hope for their enemies afield. The king himself had visited the encampment once, much to the wonderment of everyone there. Silas had realized that it was little more than a morale campaign to keep the soldier's hopes and dreams at a high, to let them forget about the worries that should have plagued them, like which among them would be fortunate enough to live, and which would be unfortunate enough to die. With his presence doubts were erased and faces held a subtle desire to claim that they had once been acquainted with the man, as if shear presence could belie knowledge of self.

Days and nights passed uneventfully and Silas fell into the beat of the camp, the beat of war, hardening himself and putting his past behind him. After having spent many hours thinking he came to the conclusion that through the duration of the war it might be best to actually count his losses, and when death or victory seemed final, to move into the foreign land that they sought to conquer and make it his new homeland. It would be like a new beginning, he told himself. One in which he could start from the nothing that had taken control of his life and allow him to finally and properly grieve Mary, which he had only begun to do of late. It would be the perfect chance to forget all the wrong he had encountered and make on with a new life. But for now the stinging monotony of military life would have to suffice.

Then came the day.

Silas was asleep soundly in his tent, feeling justified. Dawn itself had just crept over the horizon and the earth was cool, though the day ahead promised to be scorching. Trumpets blared into the faded light and every sleeping eye opened to see what all the commotion could be. Silas, trying to keep his eyes deliberately closed for a few more well-earned minutes of sleep, was forced instead by the sound and force of the music to rise from his bed in his tent and stumble blindly outside the flap, swaying in a gentle breeze. He first looked to the sky, its blazing orange and pink jolting him with a sense of purpose. He, like all else in the encampment, dallied but rolled out to the main causeway that split the tent grounds in two. Wiping his eyes in an effort to fully rouse himself Silas could see two rows of brass trumpeters on either side of the road and the regal entourage pouring in on horseback. The king took the lead, sitting on a black mount that was draped with a royal cloth and wore a golden war helmet with a twelve inch spike attached to it that spiraled out toward a killer point. His leather reigns sat firmly in his metal hands and he was covered from head to foot in opulent armor with etchings and swirls cut into it for show purposes. His highest generals and strategists, or at leas that was who Silas had assumed they were, sat on horseback just behind him, looking grim but determined.

They all wore ceremonial garb over their horses and armor, which was blue and gold. They carried themselves with undo reality, as though everything in the world depended on them, and looked onto their footmen and crack troops with pity and emanated that they were the great and they were here to stay. Then Silas noticed it. A stage platform set up at the end of the road and dead center in the camp, where a small sleepy crowd mulled and assembled themselves.

Having made his way down the road the king dismounted the horse and left it in the care of one of the tidy officers, who tied its reigns off to a wooden post. Taking the stage and waiting for his officers the king stood there, gleaming and bold, looking out over them mass of men. He whispered something to one of the many errant officers scurrying about and who relayed it to his comrades who began to tell the common soldiers and fighters, the message rippling and spreading through the crowd. It was the order to summon the army for a speech before the marching toward Dorshen began, and everyone was aroused and excited to hear it.

With in the next half of an hour soldiers poured in from throughout the encampment dressing themselves for the coming day, eager to learn what the king had to offer. With the assembled masses chanting and pumping their fists up and down, Silas was also swept away by the power of the crowd, until officers outranking the masses began to wave their hands in an effort to draw silence.

"Order!" one of the more heavily armored officers called.

With that shout the other leaders and officers took his call, motioning for total quiet. Luckily Silas was near to the front of the army and could easily comprehend what was being said from the speech platform. Many others were out of earshot and at the very best could merely see their royal leader talking, his lips moving up and down as he yelled above the pandemonium.

At last everyone settled their cheers and the king began to speak, his brilliant golden jewel encrusted crown glittering in the face of the rising sun, his booming voice echoing throughout the land.

"Men, warriors... We are gathered here today for a common purpose, one that we can all share in, its rich wonder smelted into our hearts, in passions emblazoned on our thoughts. Many moons ago, as it rises and sets, I was confronted with a dark hour that loomed in my spirit and still sends a frightful tinge through my soul. What if, I pondered, something was to happen to Engar, our land of zeal. What if, I questioned, I were to be torn from it and it fell into the discrediting hands of what our neighboring nations furtively offered at the table of diplomacy. Progress, they said. I told them that I understood the word, but only barely as it came from their mouths. You see, comrades, soldiers, infantry men, archers, and cavalry, I knew. I knew then with ardor that at best their words of diplomacy were spoken in jest, at worst in deception. I knew that their lackluster promises were too fantastic to be made true but were rather there to appease and mollify.

"I also knew that Engar for her own sake, for refuge and safety, would have to take action. So I called you all together as one to be my Glorious Army of Engar! To fight for nobility and reason, for that which is right. But let that not be the only reason. Even as I speak here I know that you all must see it, must see that our great land was in need of change, that our nobles had grown full of themselves and without vigor, overconfident in the small winnings and prizes allotted to them by past generations and fate. But I, and I alone, called on them to pour forth their legions as one would water to cleanse the land. I foresaw the need for expansion, for the glory of us all. Am I mistaken? Maybe. But look at what lies before us. Is Dorshen stagnant? And Telor'an? No! Daily there borders expand as they claim new lands. And we must do the same, but only born of conflict.

"As you all know you have been called here to fight against Dorshen, to sack her as your king sees fit and plunder her riches for yourself, for your strength and glory. And I must lead you to the very brink of life and battle where you will be tested and tempered as though you were in a crucible. And fear not, for I will not take you astray, my Glorious Army of Engar, I will strive to do only what I know to be right. Follow me and I will deliver you to victory! Follow me and I will forge a new peace! Now is the time to decide what you are made of, whether or not you can truly hold your own in the storm. If you cannot do not worry, you will always feel the warmth of my soul. I would fight and die for Engar! Who is with me?"

As the king finished his speech, which to Silas sounded dry and assumed too much, a terrible ruckus and cheer went up, spreading through the army like a wave. Silas joined in raising his closed fist from his powerful arm and shouting for the just sake of being heard, though he was intent on not getting carried away with it all. His throat vibrated against his chest and his head was ringing from the sound. He wondered just how many of the soldiers had in actuality tangibly heard what the king said, because even from this slight distance his voice was like a far of whisper. But that did not stop a single head from cheering.

The king had left the stage and loitered near his steed, clearly uncertain of what to do next, though he might have rehearsed it a thousand times in his head. Then, at the summons of his generals he entered a tent while the lower ranking officers tended to the rabble, passing along direct orders to prepare for the march, which would take a week at the most. Silas now distracted from all the fanfare went back to his tent to pick through his belongings, deciding which would be truly necessary and which could be left here. In the end he decided to pack as lightly as possible and bring as much food as he could carry. His rucksack was filled with a rusty knife that had no sheath, a water sac made from a goats bladder, oil for fires in neat little bottles and cheeses and breads, which as he thought it through he would have to keep hidden from others.

Slinging his sword in its scabbard, which was only about the length of his arm and sharp but none too grand, over his shoulder with the pack he exited the tent to disassemble it and add the parts of it that he could to his load. If he was fortunate a horse might be made to bear the burden, but he did not think that likely to happen.

With the tent now taken down, its forest green cloth folded and tucked under his arm he began to walk for the staging area, where the entire force would depart from in the hour. He stopped, noticing that a tent mate of his was struggling with the poles. Thinking himself to be polite he hurried over to him and helped him to secure them under his arms before they set off together. They reached the departure zone rather quickly and began to sit there waiting for all else to come into focus. Silas' friend sat on his pack flipping a coin into the air from off of his thumb only to catch it again and repeat the process. Time passed by slowly and little was said, if anything, as Silas' charged emotions led him to forget where he was for a time.

The order came, loud and clear and to the sound of trumpets. All the men must have finished there business and were now ready to get underway because the crowd had begun to move, following the royal party in all their regalia. The road when they hit it was easy and they had little to worry about from beasts or highwaymen in such numbers, and as the day wore on Silas wearied, but not to far beyond his ability to cope. The pace had been anything but grueling, but rather a light steady clip that had an enjoyable breeze. They passed through a few fishing villages situated about a river which they turned and followed eastward before pitching camp near it, with in drinking range as water was a commodity to precious to overlook.

The next day was much of the same, this time however they were far from any running water and instead taken to crossing arid plains. The trek was becoming more difficult by the second but Silas held on for dear life, unwilling to be the weak link in the chain of power that they had forged.

The entire journey continued that way until his commanding officer, with whom he was only ever a stones throw away from, announced that they must have penetrated the Dorshen border with an estimated size of seventy thousand men, more than enough to give the enemy a run for their money. Every two hours a group of mounted scouts was sent ahead of the main force, since that announcement came, to chart the land and look for signs of civilization. The king had a very direct strategy. He planned to sack and convert nearly five major towns that were within fifty miles of the border before an opposition could be mounted. Silas learned this from the rumors and gossip that circulated during meal time. He also learned that the king intended to restructure these towns, making the leaders swear allegiance, after the image of Engar. He did not intend to spill any innocent blood in these undefended spots but preferred to let them see his army for themselves to decide. Then after he had held these towns he would move on to the capital and seize it for his own by dislodging whatever government stood in his path.

After six days of marching the scouts finally reported a town, one that the prewar spy reports had spoken of, within the day's journey. The officers made the plan to attack at dawn and take the place by storm, at a time when an attack would be least expected they would flood the streets and hold the ground until there was a surrender. They pitched camp in the fields about a mile off from this nameless population center, hiding from the last light of the dying day and making merry on the eve of their first battle, though there was to be no fight.

Silas settled in to sleep, nibbling on cheese and bread and before long his eyes closed and he drifted off.

He awoke the next morning strangely before almost anyone else, with the exception of a few men who made it their habit to be awake at this hour, boiling stew for themselves. Within the hour the king and the rest of the camp came to wakefulness just as sweet birds began to sing their morning song. Silas stopped to listen. He had ventured far from the camp to a grove of trees where the birds hid, taking delight in their own simple pleasures. After a while, as he had noticed a growing motion in his army, he drifted off back to the leaving the camp intact before they marched on the defenseless town.

It took less than an hour to reach the target destination which only had a few men and women awake, the rest in a state of gentle slumber. As Silas saw things the town was nothing like Gossam. The houses were made from stone and mortar and were stacked against one another along broad avenues with great sweeping chimneys and more wells than he had ever seen in one place. As Silas thought about it he could only estimate that there must have been something on the order of ten thousand people living here. As armed men shored up to each and every street corner that the city had to offer they waited patiently with looks of grim determination and defiant fear, almost as though they had no real clue as to what they were doing. Most of these men, Silas' fellow soldiers, came from towns just the same. They lived the same lifestyle as the inhabitants of this town drawing water from the well and living off of livestock. Nothing fancy, no feasts save for the great harvest feast. They could identify with everything that went on here, including the terror that the people must have felt to see nearly a hundred thousand soldiers clad in gleaming chainmail with spears, broadswords, long swords, axes, bows and arrows, all let lose in their streets. And all for what? To declare a new ruler over their simple lives. As Silas thought more deeply into what he was doing, standing in the street to menace the innocent, he could only stop to think about what his lost love might think. She could have saved him from this, had she been here. She would have made him stop, have seen how despicable his actions were. And here the king had tried to make them feel that their actions, as a fighting force, were those of legend.

Silas knew better. But he could not stop himself.

Imprisonment, fines or death. Only that rattled in his head and it was enough to keep him going against his good thoughts and wishes. He knew that if he had waited for the right moment in Verlan he could have escaped freely and avoided the war. But that would be the coward's way. As he told himself this the trumpets began to blare and the king marched through the streets on horseback, waiting for the citizens of this gentle town to be woken.

They answered in like kind, opening windows and throwing back shutters to yell about the commotion, only then to gasp in horror at the sight before them. Most of them didn't now what to make of it, or what to think. Few if any of them recognized the royal standard that waved in the air, flitting about from the breezes that played with it. Some cried out for mercy, seeing only that their day of reckoning was at hand.

And just as suddenly as the windows had drawn open they drew closed, with men women and children crying in desperation, not knowing what the end of this day would bring. Finally the king ordered that all the homes within the towns radius be emptied and that the citizens of this fair place be driven to the town center where he, there new royal majesty, would address the leaders and make clear his terms of occupation. Soldiers unsheathed weapons and as though it were a well rehearsed play, commanders issued orders to their underlings who promptly began to rap on doors with the blunt end of their weapons, or force them open as the case required. Silas himself had received no such order to move in on the buildings and gather the townspeople, so he stayed well and put, tending to his own emotional wounds while looking on anxiously, hoping that the day would be done, and the sooner the better. He could hear crashing noises everywhere and all about him as homes and inns, places of business and repute were entered under false pretense and ransacked all in an effort to get as many of the undefended people, indigenous to the land, out in the clear. With in a matter of minutes it was over with, and the crowd slowly grew. People milled aimlessly about in their stockings and nightgowns, terrified and shaking, quaking before the sudden might of the barbed but dedicated Glorious Army.

The more Silas looked on the less he was able to stomach it. All that was on his mind was the thought that no man, if the world were searched twice over, would be found to be as vain as his king. Or maybe there was more to his story. Whatever the case, he wanted as little as possible to do with it. Burned in his eyes were the images of a mother holding her child's small slight hand, who clutched in mortal terror at her sewn doll, its limp form dangling uselessly. He watched as they were corralled and penned in, surrounded by a massive detour of steel clad soldiers. All of them. Thousands of them. Finally lined up in the town center waiting for whatever fate the thoughts and mind of one lone man, the king, would serve up to them.

He had no cruel and terrible fate for them and to minimize the terror as best as could be done the king had already issued a no-contact order offering only severe punishment to those who violated it. In time a group of officers split up and spread out calling throughout the crowds of innocents, asking for their leaders while the prospect of peace still and yet remained. And, in time, a group of people diluted out of the crowd who now shied away from them like broken animals, afraid to acknowledge that the town's officials even existed, let alone if they knew them. Silas from his spot had a fairly clear vision of what was transpiring. Five people, one plump and rounded with a slightly graying beard who wore his night gowns, a matriarch with strong arms from hard hours of labor and the three others, to all appearances commonplace ordinary people also tucked neatly in their bed clothes, stood together in bravery against the ominous military presence that had sprung itself from oblivion.

Silas edged closer one step at a time, weaving his way in between his fellow soldiers until he was within range to hear what was being said. The town's leaders seemed remarkably calm for a group of people who had lost all rights to their lives in an instant, unsure of whether they would be killed or spared.

Too calm.

As Silas craned for a view he saw one of the commonplace looking ones reveal a knife and start slashing blindly at the air. At an officer's hand motion, a quick flick of the wrist followed by a pointing motion, ten armed footmen set into him and wrestled him to the ground, smashing his hand against the dusty ground until his lost his hold on his weapon. They then took him into their custody, holding tightly on his arms which were secured behind his back and did not offer to hurt him anymore than they had already done. Then the king made his way over to them, sauntering with a grin of triumph plastered to his face. He came so close to Silas that he could almost touch the man, not that he would have chosen to do so. All he felt was an ever widening chasm of bitterness for the king, one that he wouldn't soon forgive. But he was here and he chose to make the best of it, huddling as close to the action as he could get himself. The king was the man of the hour and every neck turned to see what he would say or do, including the peeved Silas.

The king was doing his best to appear fair but abrupt, firm and far from wistful, relaxed but in control. He walked right up the five leaders and stared each one in the eye sending an electric chill throughout his troops. Silas felt the charge that was growing in the air and was about to make another round to get closer to the action but the king suddenly spoke, freezing him in his tracks.

"You may recognize me, you may not. I am the king of Engar and I am here by right! I have come to claim this town and its inhabitants, their land and crops, as a provision and extension of Engar. This area will no longer belong to Dorshen but will instead fall into the realm of control of its neighbor nation, the aforementioned and gracious Engar."

The king's voice was powerful and carried well, eliminating the confusion of the faces of his new citizens who had wondered all along what the problem could be, or would be. His head, crown and all, swiveled around as if the mere look of him could address a crowd this large. His mouth opened again and he spouted forth his challenges.

"I now know who the leaders are to this sad lot, and I may yet allow them to keep their posts if they but swear a new allegiance, here and now." Then he turned to address them personally. "Who here is in the highest rank? Hmm? Who has the greatest say?"

The plump man with the beard stepped forward, as if he might do something to save the citizens from whatever this mad man had to offer.

"I am. " he said.

"And who might you be?" called out the king loudly, for all to hear.

The man's voice was just as bold and assuming as the king's. "I am the mayor, elected by the people to serve and lead them, ratified by the council of the lands. I stand for them always and represent them and you sir are in the wrong! Do you see what you are doin-"

"Silence!" shouted the king. "The mayor, you say? Elected by the people, you say? What an odd custom. What of your nobles, where are they to be found in an hour such as this?"

"We have no nobles. They were all removed from power and replaced with elected officials and councils. We haven't had there kind for decades at least."

"Well know this!" raved the king, producing a document from his person. "This will be the chance for your officials, as you call them, to join with our forces in peace rather than despair. All they must do is sign this parchment after reading and agreeing with it. We will leave an occupying force to govern the land and establish a new way of reason, to quell any and all rebellion and to collect taxes. This is a chance for everyone here to get a new and rightful start at life. Take it and be happy!"

One of the king's officers came forward with a quill dipped in ink for the mayor to sign with. After he read the document he let out a howl and tore it in disagreement, his face blustered and angry.

"Take him away, men!" the king yelled. And it was done. Soldiers crowded around him and took him prisoner by the limbs, bearing him off and away from the assembled masses.

Chapter Eighteen

The man pitched and flailed in a feral daze as he was hauled off and taken toward the outskirts of visibility and placed in irons to bind him. All the while his loud voice whined before it suddenly cut off, as though he recognized that no amount of hollering could buy him any due freedoms. The king and his army looked on to this spectacle for a time before all eyes eventually returned to the king, including those of the beleaguered townsfolk. Knowing that he was once again the primary exhibit and subject to the wonderment of the crowd Roger pulled closer to the remaining men of stature, who had looked on in wild shame as their comrade was unduly clapped into the custody of the officers of the Glorious Army standing before them.

"We will agree!" One of the four remaining leaders, now that the king had seized the mayor, shouted hastily out. "The four you see remaining here, if we could retain our position as leaders in this community, will surely agree to whatever demands his royal majesty has set before us. I will sign the treaty, if you have another copy, as will we all. Won't we?"

He was crooning and small compared to the king, who seemed not to notice him. Grimaces and scowls crossed the faces of the town's leaders at the sound of one of their own begging for amnesty but despite it all they forced their own heads to nod back and forth, up and down, in excruciating approval of what their brother in catastrophe had put forth.

He was so small looking, his back arched and his head looking up from ground ward at the king and his fellows. His clothing rippled lightly in an uneasy breeze and at length the king, who made a dramatic point of looking as many townspeople in the eye as possible, turned slowly to the town official who now suddenly pleaded for royal graces.

"But how then should I punish the lot of you for your ignorance? Am I simply to let the ponderous blasphemies of your former- and I emphasize former- mayor pass without retribution. No, I see it another way I will rai-"

"Certainly, O great king, you will not kill any of us or the mayor for our free spirited beliefs and stubborn ways." loudly and whiningly interjected the same grim official who had writhed under the tragic eye of his public and foes all at once moments ago.

The king, rather than take on a high flouted air of anger at having been interrupted brought the quaking fearful man before him to a standstill with an icy glare.

"Of course not." said the king coolly. "Though I came to make war I did not come to vainly slaughter. In war there is a certain degree of surrender that is self evident and to be respected by all acting commanders. The poor fool mayor, though he is an inconvenience, is not in the slightest capable of doing any measuring or lasting harm to my men, their state, or our nation. He will live to survive his foolishness, if nothing else."

The king paused for breath and then tried to calm himself as the intoxicating wine of victory had saturated his soul and made it hard for him to concentrate or even care about the secondary elements of his war, like subjugating the people. Collecting himself, he continued on with a small spark of growing anger in his breast.

"As I had been saying, before this whippet of what you all call a leader cut me off, I will set a high tax bar for you all to meet since your leaders couldn't at once agree to the wisdom of my rule. Times will be hard, but when I discern that your debt of courtesy has been paid in full I will lower things to a much more sustainable rate. Know that I do nothing of what I do to you all in hate or anger. I love all of my citizens and they love me." The king chuckled. "Or so I suppose."

In short order the king's officers once more brought forth a quill and parchment to be signed and this time it was not taken lightly. To keep themselves out from under the cruel and demanding claws of their new king the officials all ratified the treaty, barely aware of what they were signing themselves to uphold.

In no time it was over. They had sacked the town and brought their leaders to justice, or at least to whatever type of justice that the king had wanted for them. The military leaders had decided that the day would be spent in town resting and preparing, gaining greater strength and mobility in the event that real armed opposition, not just a roiling lot of rambunctious townsmen, dared to challenge them.

It wasn't long before the king, who had retired for the day, was sorely needed. He had set up shop in one of the local's house who clearly had a fortune and could due well to share the wealth he had accrued.

The problem was simple. The king liked to run a tight ship and had forbade almost all contact between his new citizens and his army, knowing that it could almost and always lead directly to disaster. Though he had not made it a formal order he had stated that it would be for the better if his troops were quarantined from the population. He didn't suspect that a thing would go wrong but then his officers, who had uncouthly turned a blind eye, came to him with reports of looting and resource swiping.

Inimical rage boiled within him. How could his men be so foul and daft? Leaving the comfort of the large home he had kicked back in he raced to the strategy tent that had been established at the onset of the invasion into town where the highest in rank met to discuss the finer points of their plans. The king raced to the tents, his ashamed officers trailing close behind. It took but a few minutes and he was there, under the shaded coverings and standing over a table with maps and pencils shrouding it. Within seconds Hector's head popped into the tent and the king, who was on the verge of roasting over, called him to attention. Hector smartly complied standing firm and listening intently.

"Hector," said the king in honest rage. "what do you know of your subordinate's actions in recent hours?"

Hector's eyes burned brightly and his muscles tensed as he responded calmly, hoping to placate the king from his wrath.

"They were to set and pitch camp in and around the city. They were to pace and map the town and its surrounding land for future stationing of troops and reference. They were to take those who were deemed fit and detach from the main compliment of forces and prepare to remain behind and keep military hold over this place until it is truly and fully converted. Have they not done this sire?"

The king who now made clear attempts to control his breathing and bring himself back to reality responded duly. "It is not you that I should be angry at, this I know. You have with great loyalty and little skepticism, that I have detected, agreed to serve me. But apparently the bulk of the troops have flown off the handle. They have begun looting and perhaps even, though I am loathe to say it, pillaging. Could this be true?"

The general in his light armor responded by wiping sweat from his brow, confident that he would not bear the brunt of the king's madness.

"I will see to it," responded Hector, "that whatever has been done shall be undone. I will set things to right."

"So be it." spoke the king plainly.

Hector turned briskly and left the tent. Within moments word had spread throughout the encampment that all whom had lawlessly violated the people of this town would be punished and all pillaged materials to be kept would instead be returned. The officers beneath Hector, seeing the seriousness and disappointed anger in his eyes, complied. They rounded up and flogged the ringleaders and made immediate amends to the townspeople by leaving all the goods they determined to be stolen in a massive pile in the town square where it could be recovered by who ever owned it.

It took some time but the folk of the town, mentally bruised but not broken, filtered out to collect what was rightfully theirs. Even though in all the commotion it was not easy to identify what was whose and who owned what, no one stole or tried the play anyone else for the fool. The townspeople were simply not like that. They had a sacred bond of trust that they prayed could never be broken, no matter how the vile new king and his puppet nobles would try to change it.

In short order the pile disappeared and every one was back in their homes. As the army, minus the contingent that had been left to rule, rested soundly in their tents and anywhere that shelter seemed more agreeable, night snuck upon them and with it the clean victory that they had affirmed grew on them all. Not one of the men felt fear or disparagement at what they were apart of but rather a growing and urgent loyalty to each other, their officers, and the highest echelons, like the king and Hector. Eyes closed and lips fastened shut in the late twilight and before they knew it every last one of them had fallen asleep and woke to the crowing of a rooster that must have made its way far from its farm.

Dawn was kind on the aching bones of the well rested soldiers and after long they grabbed at all their tents weapons and goods, packing them up as quickly as possible and moving out onto the open road. As every one made ready to leave those in command checked their maps scribbled painstakingly on parchments for one last time before heading out.

They marched all day and into the night, which didn't dampen morale as much as the king had expected. In the thick of it all Silas, and his troop, speculated while carrying their great loads of soldiering materials, trying to make the best of this grand new experience and capitalize on this opportunity to see the lands they were conquering, lands that else ways they probably never would have set foot on.

Things continued onwards as normally as they possibly could have for a group of sweaty men who had barely known each other until campaigning started. Their great faith in the king's almost mystical power never waivered. They had now taken at least four other towns, one of them large enough to be a city, and second to that detachments from the main forces of soldiers had successfully broken away from the main contingent in order to capture small villages that the king had deemed necessary to the greater good. In each of the victories where Silas had been present things had gone stunningly similar to the first capture. No formal army or resistance had time to develop or come forth, and for this they towns and their citizens were quickly, quietly, and easily subdued. Another similarity in all these cases was the elected councilors being rude, disruptive and defiant, at first, before coming to see things the way they ought to be seen. The king's way. After some coaching, some threats, and some bargaining, they always surrendered to their captors to better serve their townspeople, which the King and Silas had noted they seemed to feel an almost limitless responsibility for.

The king's army was growing smaller by the day, but that in its entirety was due to the myriad of victories his army encountered. Leaving men behind to stabilize the rule had left the king with fewer men than he had anticipated, but that was no bother for him seeing as he still had a massive armed force at his disposal.

However, the day was fast approaching. The army, having stalked its way through all the border regions was surely and in definite form converging on the capital of Dorshen. Tensions were at that highest as the leaders recognized that any effective resistance would be meted out in the following days of the following fields, but only if Dorshen's forces themselves had heard of the gloom and menace that King Roger had brought with him.

They had.

Unknown to the King, Hector, and most of his most trusted men with the exception of those who had dared to guess at the truth and hold it close, a horse riding man had managed to warn the free peoples of Dorshen. He was making his way into town one day, a town that the King had occupied, and in the distance and confusion he saw and recognized an army that had no business being there. Responding as he only knew best to do he rode long hard and far to Dorshen's capital and told the leaders and military officials there everything he had seen. They accepted his words as truth and mobilized, sending scouts to follow and regard their newfound enemies.

But all of this remained unknown to the King and his men. They had, after some weeks on the march and a boisterous feeling of greater accomplishment, settled onto a small plateau like hill that was covered in short green grass, which by the king's estimation was a perfect theater for battle if any dared to oppose what he hoped beyond hope would be another bloodless victory. The hill where they had pitched camp was over three miles from Herach, the capital of Dorshen, and due to this there was no clear line of sight from where they stood to the city, though scouts had made careful reports as to its whereabouts.

The king had settled in for the day, fantasizing and fearing. He felt a warm aura grow in his breast as he envisioned himself trotting through the streets of his new city on horseback with all the peasantry and wealthy alike awed by his majesty. He expected to roll into the city and dissolve its military capacity before it ever had time to respond. He knew in secret for some reason that he could not define that this seemed too glorious a victory, to unlikely, and that furthermore someone was bound to have warned them. He wished for otherwise, but his strategy called for large greater battles to take place after the sacking of Herach from the disenfranchised masses that managed to form themselves up after weeks of preparation and secret messages to and from one another. As his dream went they would live in the shadows, fearing the king's open reign and his throttle. Before long and out of what they deemed necessity they would band and attack.

As he sat in his tent, his feet crossed and thrown up on a table from the chair where he sat, a low rumble caught his attention, pulling him back to reality. Dazed and peeved he sprung from his chair and in his haste and anger stuck his soured face from the tent to se what all the matter could be. He was preparing himself to burst with rage and demand the forthwith disciplining of whomever was responsible but his sultry fears were cut short,

His eyes widened and his crown seemed to have shifted in its position on his head making him look small and alone. They were on the move. The king, and now most of the army with an unobstructed view, saw what they had deep down inside feared most. The armies of Dorshen, tens of thousands of them, were forming up down the immensely wide slope from them. Initially it seemed, as the kings jaw dropped, that they meant to do battle now. But as the king looked on they set up a camp across the way from the Glorious Army of Engar, in the empty field were they were most unwanted. They would not go down without a fight to defend their lands.

Men everywhere, in the king's army, shouted loud warnings and raced about grabbing hold of weapons to defend themselves, officers called out at the top of their lungs for their troops to form up, and they obliged.

It took some time, but the Glorious army had reformed itself now ready for battle. They looked discontentedly at their opponents who had made great headway in building camp. The king, after surveying the nightmare, saw that battle was not upon them at this very moment but that the hour was near, and with that the call to arms was belayed. The army calmed itself into a peculiar ease, setting their weapons down at their commander's orders, who knew it much better to delay the battle until they were set to win it.

Perhaps tomorrow, the king thought. Roger arranged his face into a smile and headed back into the tent, taking in the sights before preparing to draw up a strategy for the fighting. He found his highest officers under the cover of cloth that was the roof of his humble wartime abode, sitting and waiting diligently while penning maps and diagrams to lead themselves and country to victory. Hector came in a second after the king, almost as though he had felt or anticipated King Roger's growing need for his presence.

"Right on schedule." He remarked coolly, holding his high-strung emotions in check.

Hector couldn't distinguish whether the king meant him, for entering the tent, or the forces of Dorshen, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

"Right ho. I do my best to appear when needed." Hector's spine was tingling as he spoke. He suppressed the jitter and winding spring that gripped him. While he told himself internally that the fight they were in for was only menacing by appearance he fought the notion that it was menacing by nature as well. Seeing Roger's face offered a little relief, but in the same instant he realized that moments before the king spoke of the enemy, as if to curtail fear, not of his most admired general for entering.

Roger dismissed the incident with a wave of his hand and leaned in over a table with hand drawn and hastily formulated maps of the field they now occupied, with estimates of the resistance they were to face. His military leaders had been hard at work all the day long and now was the hour of reckoning. Of the five faces in the room each one knew and showed on his face that the plan they formulated now could very well determine their victory or defeat

"Well Hector," the king said firmly, "you now know after having seen what lies just outside waiting for us why I as much as insisted that you lead the way on the battle map."

Hector let the praise slide off his exterior, who knew that complicating his emotions could only create an eventual havoc, mental or otherwise. Hector looked at the three men dressed in battle armor, two sitting, one standing near the table before speaking.

"General Baur, General Eugeine, and Sidens, bring us up to date with the current plan, given what you have formulated and are certain of so far."

They all grinned cunningly and gathered round the strategy table talking and tacking up new attack approaches as if it had been the only thing left on the face of the planet to do. The five of them in the tent gambled and debated, working out a set of orders that were to be executed tomorrow, four hours after dawn, their heated voices carrying outside the walls of their shelter. If they were not marched on by then they would deliver a hammer stroke to ring the anvil of battle as it had never been rung before. They would perfectly and permanently dismantle Dorshen.

Silas sat watching the sun set over the trees in the distance, taking in the light and beauty of what he prayed would not be his last night to live. He pumped air in and out of his lungs slowly, rhythmically, beneath the orange and peach colored sky, watching the diminutive flicker and wave of battle standards in the camp of the enemy that was so far away from him, but close enough for his eyes and mind to touch. He thought he could make out a forked flag with the likeness of plowing oxen sewn onto it, but he could not be sure. For as it was, he speculated, this war and this battle that was soon to be upon him were nothing more than two herds of frightened and belittled villagers, one side forced through law, and the other side through principal, to engage in a meaningless slaughter to satisfy the abominable choices of a select few. That select few, he mused, were just as blind as everyone else, but then again, he thought, they might truly know something of politic and reason that he did not. In the fading light he longed even more for Mary, but her embrace was nowhere for him on the eve of conflict.

He rose from his sitting position in the grass at the top of the hill and turned back to his own maze of pitched tents and makeshift havens that flew their own flags, and had spears planted in the soil all about them. Walking back into the labyrinth he began to catch his bearings and find his way back to his own refuge when his commander, noticing him milling about, called out to him.

"Silas!" he shouted. "I have our orders!"

Silas turned and looked in his direction clearly surprised. More curious than anything he changed course and ambled over to the officer, working over in his mind what he might hear. He neared the tall man with his muscular build and told himself that it was a good thing he would never be on the receiving end of that man's violence.

"So what do we have? A list of objectives? A full scale assault plan? Or is it just a time for us to launch our attack?" Silas said slowly, his interest developing.

"On the contrary," said his commander winsomely, "It is all of the above."

Silas sped up and nearly rushed at the man, pawing at rolled up parchments in his hand, but to no avail. With a tisk-tisk the man in front of him only broadened a smile and held his hand, with the orders in them, high above the two of them, chuckling while he watched the beleaguered Silas hopping up and down trying to reach for them. Then, in a moment of compassion, he lowered them into Silas' waiting palms.

The commander, wearing a silver medallion that certified his rank, became excited and shook Silas by the shoulders as if to include him in his boyish delight.

"While you look over it I'll do my best to explain it to you." he said with an affection.

"Good and right with me." Silas' hands unfurled the papers and he saw a meticulously drawn map depicting the battlefield that he had been surveying only minutes ago. It had been obviously copied from a separate map and in that instant Silas wondered at how many of these copies could be floating around camp, and whether or not that was particularly strategic. Instead of worrying himself he thought little else of it.

Apart from having troop formations and squadron placements written carefully down, along with maneuvers and times for them to be performed after the start of battle he saw a short list of objectives jotted down on the back side of the plans. As he read it with fervor he noted with caution and a suppressed laugh that their primary objective, apart from victory, was to protect the life of the king, even if it meant disobeying orders.

What a selfless figure, he thought sarcastically.

"So is that all there is to it?" Silas quoted patiently.

His commander seemed distracted by his own thoughts and stood there with a far away look in his eye. Silas boldly waved his hand in the man's face and in that second he came to again.

"I'm sorry Silas." he said quickly. "I didn't mean to get so distracted. But no, to answer your question, that is not quite all. We have to rehearse our maneuvers." He turned and stood beside Silas, pointing his fleshy finger into the map.

"If you'll notice," he continued, "where it shows our unit here along this front, we will have to take part in a hinged movement. We are stationed, as you can see, a good way back from the initial front line and we are even supported by cavalry, immediately to our rear. This, for all purposes, is simply because of our proximity to the king. In that regard we have gotten a bit lucky as it is likely much safer a position to be in. However and on the other hand, if any harm, any harm whatsoever, were to befall the king our contingent could likely be blamed for it. I can't say what that would mean for us… Any way… Err… Here. See where I am pointing? This is part of the front of archers. They are directly behind the king, who is appropriately at the rear of the main force, and the majority of the battle lines, and will attempt in full grace to shower the opposition with a dire hail of barbed steel and arrows."

Silas merely nodded his head in agreement as the man spoke, soaking in as much as he could and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw just how fortunate they where in their positioning. Who knows, he thought to himself, the enemy might surrender before even getting through the ranks to him.

His commander rambled on and before he knew it dusk had fallen. He hoped and prayed as he finally found his way to bed that the enemy would have no surprises in store for him while he slept. He wanted no more than to come out of this alive and unwounded.

Chapter Nineteen

Silas woke from his sleep in the early hours of the morn with a terrible shiver. It had happened again, this time with more vivid detail than ever. In his horrible nightmare world he had fallen and fallen down into an abyss for what seemed like an eternity before landing into the gray and dimly lit world of what he had mistaken for nothing other than pain itself. There were two rock precipices to either side of him, jagged and raw, and he had found himself in some type of a canyon that abruptly ended some hundreds of feet in front of him and from where he stood.

Feeling a long and burdensome emptiness he perfunctorily set of down the road in front of him calling out Mary's name as he did so, putting each foot in front of the other as if it were the most difficult of chores. At last he had come to a fork in the road with a wooden sign staked into the ground. Two arrows pointed down each path with one reading Death and the other Beyond. Having no choice but to keep on going he bravely set down the path to Beyond, hoping that nothing of the evil he felt deep in his soul would find him there.

The road had narrowed and sloped violently upwards and as Silas trudged onwards the land that used to sit beside the road had dropped off into nothingness and only the cosmos with hundreds of nebulous colorful swirls and endless stars took its place. After what seemed like a long while, time in his mind began to distort and run faster than it had ever done for him, his mind then in a dizzy swirling blur. All that he could see before him now was himself, dressed for war, gone crazy with a killing frenzy and hacking at bodies that spewed blood. And a small part of him was beginning to like it.

It was then that he had awoken, disgusted.

With nothing else to pass the time he did his best to clear his thoughts of the jumbled nonsense that had gripped him so tightly. He began to stretch and exercise in the dim light of nearby campfires. With a growing amusement in his breast he toyed with the idea of joining the night watch until dawn but in coming back to his senses he realized that it was probably not the best of ideas to distract them from the work they were so diligently doing.

Instead he went back into his tent with the life of Mary on his mind, the life he had let so foolishly end. Blaming himself and whatever god commanded the cosmos he rested his head until his eyes shut and he went into a nervous trance, somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness.

The time passed with out any incident and before he knew it a wild hand madly rocked back and forth on his body forcing him to jolt upright amongst the clutter in his tent.

"Two hours to battle." The head connected to the hand said smoothly before leaving.

Hopping up with an anger at what he had dreamed and a growing hatred for the forces behind Mary's death, the villagers of Gossam, chance, the meteors, whoever set the fire, and even himself, he developed a focus. This was the first time in his life that he had ever, or would ever for that matter, be willfully exercising the thought to kill someone. He had been rattled after his dream and could sense his very mettle, his soul, changing its course and speed like a log stuck in a winding river's current. His anger made him keen and sharp. He embraced it.

Silas flexed his fists in an effort to gather a new sense of himself before stepping into the sunlight.

The bright burning and blazing star in the sky was moving slowly and surely up toward its zenith, though it was nowhere near there at the present hour. Dew from the cool morning collected from the grass onto his feet, awakening his curiosity and calming his battered nerves. He only wondered at its wetness and the serene chirping of birds and creatures that came to life with the light. A small finch landed not too far from where Silas stood and pecked diligently at the ground, jabbing and poking with its beak until it had wrestled an earthworm free of its sod an moorings, spiriting it off and away toward its nest. With that on his mind he made his way into ranks with his squad, carrying a sack, who were by now preparing themselves as best they could, shrouding themselves with leather armor and sharpening blades while basking in the growing heat and light.

"Ho, Silas." said a soldier named Breiling in greeting.

Silas pulled a stitched canvas bag with all of his military apparel and effects in it up beside himself as he sat down next to the man.

"Strange how nature works. Mysterious, awe inspiring even. But cold and ruthless to its sweet core." All Silas could think of as he spoke was the strange yet comforting sight of the bird wrestling its food into the morning sky.

"It is a sad humor that governs nature, the blind and writhing are preyed upon by those who are born to fly, born to live. And just as in nature so it shall be, it least to all appearances, with us." Even as the words left his moist lips a growing shadow of doubt was living in the corner of his mind. He could think of nothing less fair and preposterous than to fight another man's conflict that was born of hatred and untreated desire. He desperately wanted his comrade Breiling to see that.

Looking directly in the man's eyes Silas had found a small comfort amongst his sugary treasons and as he reflected he showed Breiling with a smile that the tables could be turned.

"We don't' have to fight" said Silas, peeking Breiling's interests who glanced at him fearfully. "And we certainly don't have to follow that silly list of objectives, like keeping the king breathing no matter what the price."

Breiling was slow to respond and it was clear that he was doing his best to emotionally process the seditions that Silas uttered.

"Spot on," Breiling commented, "but you now the penalty for disregard to the law."

"That's not what I'm saying." responded Silas.

"Then what is it exactly that you mean?"

"Rather than writhe blindly under the intense gaze of the king I say that we formulate a plot, as it seems as though every one else around here has one."

"Again, what is it exactly that you mean?" Breiling folded his arms across his chest and had the making of a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Silas could tell by his intense presence that he meant real business.

"I say when the heat and ardor of battle perchance comes our way that we gracefully make our exit and claim only that we saw that the king was in danger."

"Ohh…" said Breiling pensively."I like the sound of that. We head off in the king's direction as soon as it fit us, not that we'd have to save the bugger's life even if he were in danger, and take our leave, all the way operating under pretense."

"Exactly." smiled Silas.

"If I didn't like the sound of that so much I've have you put away."

Silas only chuckled and set about to arming himself with battle now the only thing on the horizon.

Before long Silas' mind had become tranquil, clear, and alert. And before long again, battle was upon them. Silas and his friends weren't exactly armed to the teeth as they formed up. The best any of them had was leather armor that might help with shielding against slices and less inert arrows. They knew that only the kings more permanent army, those who were soldiers by profession, actually had metal chainmail, steel helmets and shields. Silas had never envied them but as he marched into formation the thought crossed his mind.

He carried only a sharpened sword of forged steel and wore a tanned leather head covering that had been given to him by a friend who for some auspicious reason carried extras. The king's officers had also issued a blue tunic to be worn as a top layer which was fairly well made with a rearing lion on its front and a rising sun on its back. Wearing it Silas felt a little self conscious but on the whole it offered a sense of uniformity and purpose. It also made it impossible to mistake a friend for the enemy.

The entirety of the Glorious Army now lined up for unavoidable battle a dozen yards or so away from they're camp and down the hill. Silas marched forward step by step amazed at how placid and self contained this horrid conflict was. As he plunged forward with all the morbidity he could muster roiling in his bones he glanced to his left among the mighty and fearsome throng to see Breiling who only looked back at him and winked. There was an unspoken safety to sticking close to swarms of people this large and Silas could clutch it as it vibrated in his bones. The salty sweat of working limbs lingered in his thoughts along with his reviled fantasies of bloody triumph.

Then, as if by some unspeakable sorcery, hundreds of yards away and down the battle range the enemy began to mobilize. Silas wondered at that moment just how horrified the king's own face must have been, he would have loved to have seen the insufferable anguish of a good plan gone bad, or rather merely counteracted, but then he thought through it to his own well being. It was as if by magic they had known to form up in neat pre-planned ranks, their polished metal helmets mirroring the morning sun.

The entire pace of the glorious army slowed in shock as each and every one in position looked into the far off eyes of the innumerable enemy who seemed so clever and portentous. Within seconds the entirety of the opposing force was in place and ready to fight to the death and that sight was burned into Silas retina, right in with the dead face of Mary, both of which for all the days and trials of his life he would never forget.

Time seemed to stop. The first waves surged forward trampling and thundering, smashing the ground and green grass beneath their feet. But they didn't care. As far as Silas could see nothing else mattered but the stink of conflict and the slaughter of the enemy. And though he was nowhere near the front lines he watched sedately as they clashed. A volley of arrows flew from behind Silas and Breiling's heads and they looked directly upwards, craning their necks to see their majestic flights for themselves. The arrows struck home with a vengeance. And still Silas pressed forward. Men in front of him swung wildly with their weapons, thousands upon thousands of them struggling for poetic conquest as blood spilled around them and from all sides. And still Silas pressed forward.

After what seemed like an eternity the ranks that separated him so kindly from the battle front began to thin and a thick fog seemed to be closing in from the horizon, shrouding out the sun though it was the fullness of day. It crept around the armies extremely slowly and for the time being, Silas noted, it proffered no threat to any living or dead man.

Wretchedly and totally, the unsavory heat of battle caught up with Silas and his co-conspirator, Breiling. They looked directly to the front of themselves and into the livid faces of the men of Dorshen and brandished their swords, fearing the worst. Watching intently the two of them bore witness to their squad commander's battle cry which drove the squad home and into the spooling mass of combatants, hammering and slashing away as though the enemies lives suddenly meant nothing to anyone.

Just as Silas gave Breiling the signal to fall back, which he gratefully did after a few halfhearted slashes at thin air, the ranks of Dorshen fell back and split, which Silas saw with a cold and florid amusement. Had they won? Really and truly? That was all that Silas could think in his mind's eye and before he had a chance to shout a victory cry to the wide open air between himself and his supposed enemy a massive rift formed in the middle of the Dorshen ranks and a sickly thundering nose erupted in rapidity.

Silas and Breiling did not for the lives of themselves know what to make of it. All they could see amidst their surprised grimaces was a new type of enemy soldier taking the place of the old ones. These new fighters held small cannons in their hands, something that neither Silas nor any one in the king's employ, including the king himself, had ever seen before, blasting them willfully into the brave men of Engar who only collapsed and bled out in an unmerciful flourish of astonishment and shock.

And beyond that, behind the whole of the Dorshen rank, Silas could just make out full size cannons firing stridently over their own soldiers and continuously murdering Silas' men at arms, which he found revolting.

But the time was now or never and a small tug on his arm from Breiling was enough to remind him of the fact. The men around them forced onward and forward while the two of the only fell back in a zigzag line toward the king who sat mounted atop his noble steed shouting orders, his glittering crown sparkling in the last remaining light that the fog had begun to choke out. The closer and closer that Silas and Breiling found themselves to the king, jostling and shouldering their way through more and more surging bodies, the more fog they found blotting out their field of vision. In a little bit, they recognized, it would be upon them, and who could say for certain what it would bring.

At long last the two, in their full retreat, stood less than fifteen yards from their glorious king, whose voice they could hear carrying on the wind. As Silas watched he couldn't help but think that the man did cut a striking figure, his cape billowing wildly in the breeze. He was probably doing his best, just as Silas was, to perceive the true nature of the insipid fog, and likely to no avail.

And there, among the near endless lines of loyal and warring archers, Silas saw him. It was a great surprise at first, something that rocked him to his soul, but as he looked harder and more closely he became certain of one thing. Breaking away from Breiling, Silas sprinted forward dropping his sword and letting it clatter to the dirt uselessly. He bore down on the king like a flash of lighting, checking with every bounding stride he took if it was truly real, if the old town crier who had nearly seen him killed in Gossam, who had nearly killed him in the woods, was aiming an arrow dead into the neck of King Roger, who was totally unaware.

The sweat stained face of the crier was gritty and dirt smeared as he knocked an arrow, closed one eye and slowly drew the string beck. He let one fly. Silas now in a panic doubled his pace which he didn't think possible as the first shot missed the king's throat, but barely as it soared out into the field of battle. The king still hadn't noticed what was going on and Silas looked dead into the crier's eyes filled with contempt, which looked squarely into his eyes, wild and frantic, before letting his second shot fly. Silas knew that the crier had seen and identified him and fortunately for the king the crier's unbridled shock affected his accuracy, but not by much. Silas leapt through the air and struck the king in the fullness of his grandeur knocking him from horseback to the ground. The arrow had missed the king and Silas both by mere fractions of a second and had lodged itself in the back of the king's mount's neck where a trickle of red blood unhurriedly poured out. The horse reared and let out a feral whinnie of pain as it did so, while Silas and the king only watched from the ground, on the seat of their pants.

Silas looked to the king's face to see how angry he had become but saw only the unparalleled distress and alarm as the king saw the arrow plunged into his steed's neck, now bleeding freely. The king then turned his solemn face to Silas, which was luckily free of any anger but instead replaced with a suspicious understanding.

"You saved my life..." King Roger said hoarsely to Silas.

"That I did, sir." Silas responded, and in that instant the pressing fog choked in on every one on the great field of battle knocking them unconscious, dead, or worse. Silas became dizzy as he tried to stand, waving his hands blindly in the air, unable to see more than a foot in front of his nose. He stumbled head long into the king, falling to the ground beside him, close enough to see the features on his royal majesty's face. Silas remained conscious only long enough to see Roger's eyes roll back in his head as he slumped to the ground unaware, and a little longer after that to revel in the irony. His last waking thought was that in this thick conflict of men the rolling unforgiving fog had claimed its own victory.

Chapter Twenty

King Roger awoke. He could feel a gentle knell tugging at his mind and soul, calling him to rise. Though his eyes were closed his senses were gradually coming out of the haze they had unexpectedly succumbed to. He couldn't be sure what had happened as he lay on his back, running his hands over his face, feeling at his ears and brow to make sure that everything was still there and fully intact, but from what he did remember all the world had come loose. A mild headache dampened his keen focus. There had been the battle. Men had fought and died for him, for Engar, but then there was something else. What was it? His thoughts searched while his eyelids popped open and the blueness of the sky, though partially obscured, came into clear view. It was the fog, he reminded himself. It was a menace unforeseen and unbeatable that had taken him to the ground after his roaring enemies with their strange weapons had finally shown themselves. And it was still hovering about. He could feel it.

Suddenly as if from nowhere he noticed a hand held fast underneath of his nostrils and a pungent order coming from them. Laboriously Roger propped himself up from his back to his elbows into a semi sitting position just as a sharp angular face that he recognized from somewhere that seemed vague pulled its fingers, which firmly held a pinch of smelling salts, back to its body.

He was in a state of shock. Now that he was recovering, and the last bits of what had happened before he fell unconscious returned to his aching brain and spirit, he became certain that the man who had apparently revived him was the court jester, Jasper, whom he had left at home completely exempt from the services that war required. As he looked closer, wondering if his eyes had deceived him, he became even more aware that it had to be that man. Though he was out of his many costumes and wearing an accommodating intricate robe with wide sleeves, a hood that hung limply behind his head, and vivid plum hues, it could be no one else.

But something was wrong, out of place and the king struggled to his feet fully contemplating that fact. He wanted at this moment to see the face of the man who had saved his life, knowing at his core that of all people he could be trusted. In totality the king had no idea what to make of the jester, who had seemed to read his thoughts and converged much more quickly, before even Roger had found the man's body, and knelt down over his slight torso. Roger could only watch in a curious horror, taking one exact and sluggish step at a time, as the jester pulled his hood over his head, cloaking his face in shadow.

"What has happened?" Roger croaked unevenly.

The jester, who seemed to the king completely out of place, responded by fixing his hands only a few inches from the man's sternum. As he did so a mellow golden light materialized and traveled down opalescent strands of radiance spilling onto Roger's savior's chest. Within seconds the downed fellow's breast heaved powerfully as he struggled to breathe air in and out and groaned loudly.

As the man rocked back and forth lying on his side Roger could not hide his wonderment, standing over the two of them.

"What are you, Jasper? Some kind of god?" the king questioned forcefully, the full power of his voice returning to him.

"I am many things and many ways, but I am no god." came the jester's calm reply.

"How then did he bring this man back to life then, from beyond death and all natural principalities?"

"To begin with, Roger, he was not dead. And as for why, which I know you would surely ask, it is because I both feel and sense that he and yourself have some major part to play in this before it is all over."

"And what might this be? What do you speak of?" But as he spoke Silas opened his eyes and peered upward turning his head to see who was talking and to see the murky fog that waited patiently like some predator for its prey.

"Help me get him to his feet. Quickly!" Jasper shot at the king. To confused to become angry, and in desperate need of answers, Roger politely obliged, now that his own bodily functions had started to become normal again. Stooping down as confidently as he could he took one arm underneath of the shoulder, as did the jester, and lifted the man upward.

"You saved my life, good man. I owe you a great debt of gratitude and much else. Who are you?"

As the two of them supported Silas' body his legs hung limply to the ground. Though he was dazed and baffled he managed to speak, before his eyeballs went back in his head.

"I… am called Silas. What has happened? The last thing…last thing I remember was twisted fog blocking out my thoughts and…"

Before he could finish his head lolled to the side and he went unconscious, though still breathing. Jasper and Roger carried him on a few steps further before setting him down again for the jester to revive. As they set him down on his back, resting serenely, the king had for the first time taken in the full breadth of the scene before him. He stood tall and brave, though he felt nervous. For the most part the fog had lifted, though substantial patches still remained here and about. And it was there, looking out before him, that the king was truly awed by the forces that had shaken and shattered his day. Myriads of people, uncountable thousands of bodies, lay littered and sprinkled about the field of battle splayed askew. In some cases the sparkle and reflection of full battle armor glinted in the hesitant sunlight. The more he looked on the more he realized that there was no obvious sign of trauma in the vast majority of cases, if they were dead or merely knocked out as he had been, he couldn't tell. As the jester squatted by Silas' body administering smelling salts determinedly Roger gathered his courage and asked what had be troubling him since he had first noticed the full extent of his surroundings and his now, vanquished enemy and soldiers alike.

"Jasper," he said slowly, deliberately. "Are these men, all of them including my dreaded foe, dead? Or do they still breathe? Tell me…tell me how they rest."

Jasper took his time in responding and seemed mostly intent of reanimating Silas for whatever purpose or serenade he had in mind and for a few moments ignored his presumed king before responding.

"Yes…" he said, "I see why you wonder and why it worries you so. Perhaps to you these men that fought your fight led lives of meaning, worth, consequence even. But what you see here, all that is before you is a product of forces long set in motion and as immovable as the earth itself. They are dead, all of them. Of that I can assure you. I used what power was granted to my feeble cause to preserve your life and at least the life of this… Silas… who saved your life. If anyone else is seen to have survived this travesty it might prove a darker day further and again for us all."

No sooner had he finished speaking, leaving the king aghast and stunned, than Silas had come back to wakefulness, flopping around in then dirt like a grounded fish. After a few exuberant seconds of delirium Silas heaved himself to his feet as if ready to fight.

"Who are you all?" he challenged drunkenly, having yet to inherit the fullness of his senses.

"Who would now better than you?" replied the king. "For it was you who saved my life against what would have been a bloody and inescapable death." Thinking silently for a moment while keenly observing his new friend Silas the king then continued. "I am called Roger, King Roger, or maybe even just King or Majesty. But you might have known that. And though you may not remember it you have already told me as much, that you name was Silas, a name I will never forget."

Silas had done his best to listen astutely, standing on wobbly and buckling legs, and after testing his arms through stretching he looked around, seeing Jasper and the uncountable dead.

He gasped.

"I knew the man." Silas said nervously before pausing.

Baffled the king opened his palms questioningly.

"Who?"

"Who would you think?" Jasper interjected. "The man whose shot nearly killed you."

"I feel it was more complicated than that. In all likelihood it was an attempt to assassinate you for reasons I cannot fully comprehend. I knew the man and he was somehow deranged. I think his madness must have forced the sleight of his hand and he became enamored with murdering you before he finally tried. He tried to murder me as well." said Silas.

The king frowned somberly and did his best to take it all in stride.

"Who do you think was paying him?" asked the king.

"I doubt that he was being paid. For the latter times that I had known him he had become murderously insane and I think he made a habit of it. Of killing."

The king and Silas both glanced at each other then Jasper who had a look of sly know on his face. The king sensed his ambivalence and looked hard into his face, searching for what made him so self assured.

"What is it Jasper?" the king asked.

"Your thoughts are not necessarily the true and accurate case."

"Then what is?"

"If the two of you will take leave of this place with me and remain my guests for as much time as we find fit I would tell you. In fact, it would be my pleasure to divulge."

Roger was incredulous, feeling misled by nature itself he considered his options.

"Where are we going?"

"Going?" questioned Jasper rhetorically. "Where we're going you'll find all the answers that you are looking for. And Silas to."

Jasper started to walk away from the field and up the small incline toward the camp of Engar and the bothered Silas followed after him with a suddenly gained steadiness. Seeing that the only to living breathing people in sight were abandoning him there, to the tongue in cheek masterpiece on mayhem that he had worked so long and hard to mastermind, the king was left with little choice but to follow.

"Oh, I may as well." said the king to himself quietly before jogging a few paces to catch up with the flowing folds of the jester's robes. Once they were all atop the slope the three of them took one last look at the massacre with the fullness of its incomprehensibility setting in at last.

"My word…"whispered Silas silently under his breath.

"What?" asked the king just as furtively. "You know of no power that can bend reality so? Well now, it seems, you have found one."

As they exchanged words Jasper produced a small device from somewhere hidden cleverly on his person. Silas and the king both saw that it had many buttons and looked better crafted than anything anyone either of the two of them knew could create.

"What is tha-" But before Silas could finish his question the jester had quickly depressed several buttons and a blinding flash emanated from his curious invention, enveloping the three of them and saturating them with warm penetrating effulgence that soothed the soul.

Then they disappeared. Only the jester had any idea of the fullness of what had just occurred as they winked out of existence from standing where they once stood and then appeared again in someplace else altogether marvelous and wonderful. The king and Silas saw only white as they rematerialized at the jester's place of choosing.

As the white faded from the backs of their eyes and minds Silas and the king, his new found companion, held their breaths in absolute holy awe. Silas could feel his heart speed up as blood welled in his face exciting him. The king's bright eyes widened as he was nearly struck dumb by the magnificence of what he saw. Looking down at his feet which were planted firmly in lush green grass that glowed with its own milky light, as did everything else that he could see, he flexed his soul. He was standing on a lawn that stretched on for what seemed endless yards before it cut off and transformed into a radiant pool of eternity. There were brightly glowing stars overhead that sat nestled in what seemed to be nebulous gas clouds that changed the black background of space from pure emptiness to subtle orange and yellow. Light came from everywhere, though not at all too bright, and seemed to burn fiercest when coming from fresh living things.

The king realized that he was on an island on grass and patio that rested bravely marooned in void. He turned around and faced the other direction seeing the lawn drop off into nothingness and stars strewn about the free heavens, just a few dozen feet from where he stood. There were a few brightly flowered trees which bore succulent fruits standing between himself and several small red brick buildings, which Roger and Silas both had turned to look at, that stood proud in the distance.

"Welcome to the eternal shores of my peace." said the jester smiling self-righteously.

Silas was truly impressed. He and the king began to follow the jester across the beautiful shining greenness of the lawn toward the white stoned patio that stood at the top of several broad stairs. Once they had reached the terrace, and after having mounted the stairs, Jasper allowed the two of them to breathe in the full power of their surroundings. From his slightly elevated standing Silas could see an observatory with a massive telescope that sat connected to the floating paradise only by a wide pathway made from the same stone as the patio. To either side of the path was the deepness, and encompassing empty space, making the domed building look like it had been built on a pier jutting out over an ocean of stars. The air in Silas' lungs was surprisingly easy to breath and tasted of a sweet nectar sensation which he could barely define. Looking back to the terrace he saw that the several buildings were arranged in a semicircle around a massive radiant ball of light in what seemed to be the center of the isle.

"What is that ball of dancing shimmering light?" Silas asked Jasper in whispered awe.

"That is the force field generator which traps the pure air you breathe in this realm and saves you should you fall from any of the sides."

"What is this place? How does light seem to bleed from every leaf and blade of grass, yet the sky is like that of the most gorgeous night I ever might have conceived of?" asked the king, forgetting almost instantly the pressing concerns of his slain army, or the fog.

The jester's smile deepened and he crossed his fingers in has hands proudly, allowing them to remain concealed by the robes he wore. Thinking back on all the time he had spent here and how fortunate he had been to inherit its potential he let the seconds and minutes tick by in reverent silence as if the childlike wonderment of his two guests was worth more than anything he had to say. After they had spun round investigating everything with their eyes and breathing deeply the perfume like scents that wafted on the gentle breeze that seemed to come from nowhere, and ruffle every blade of grass, the jester spoke.

"What you see and where you find yourself is the capacity of my luck and what little genius I have working in unison" he said boldly. "And I have no doubt that you have many questions, but for now the two of you, my honored guests to what may be my everlasting home, should take the day to rest and become acquainted with your new surroundings, and what we have to say to each other can wait. I would like to see to it that the two of you find yourselves very much at home and free to smell, taste, and feel everything you find natural to do so with. Please, explore. Let nothing remain hidden from yourselves. I see completely that you have never in your entire lives seen anything quite so remarkable as what you have found in this hour. Or perhaps I am too presumptuous. Who knows? Feel free."

With that the jester collected himself and marched toward one of his homely structures, the tall windows of which the king now noticed for the first time. In moments he had disappeared behind its door, which closed as silently as it had opened, leaving King Roger and Silas standing side by side, saturated with a calming utopian curiosity neither of them had considered possible.

"What heavens are these, O Majesty?" Silas said deliberately to his king in a hint of irony, with his neck whipped back and peering into the bright darkness.

Roger only craned his neck to look into the depths likewise, his head on a swivel, enamored.

"Please Silas, after having saved my life I prefer that you simply call me Roger. And for the record, I can't see how my Majesty has any real meaning anymore when compared to what we have just discovered. These heavens must be those of whatever god is out there. Surely nothing this beautiful can be nature's doing."

After they had stopped staring out into the columns and swathes of stars, though they glanced esoterically at them from time to time, they began to walk, neither straying to far from the other. Silas, who seemed much bolder than the king, whose guard had been raised ever since he saw that his life had been challenged during battle, led the way back to the lawn to get a better look at the few trees that grew intrepidly on the lawn. Roger followed closely, but hesitantly, making a point of every step that he took. After reaching the trees Silas could see the twisting , dark brown, bark of a tree. Stopping at its base with his friend standing nearby he caught a subtle pinch of the fruits perfume like scent which hung gaily from the knotted branches. One sniff was enough to draw his entire mind in to its sweet trap and sensing that no harm could come from a deeper inspection Silas sucked in as much air as he could, pleasantly surprised by the odor he had inhaled.

"Watch this, King." Silas said, too cautious to call the king by his name, and intrigued by the tree in front of him, which appeared ancient. Straddling the wide berth of the smooth trunk Silas shimmied his way upward in the glowing liveliness of the sod. After struggling with the finer details of gaining any measurable degree of height from the ground he grabbed onto a low hanging branch and grappled it for a few tantalizingly brief seconds before pulling his limber body atop it. As the tree shook beneath his weight red flower petals fluttered and glided to the solidness of ground, surrounding Roger in a slight storm of fragrant whimsical beauty.

Watching the petals fall all around him was almost more than Roger could bear and soon afterwards he jumped as best he could up into the tree's trunk from its base, thrashing about to keep a steady hold. Though he was slightly annoyed by the fact that Silas would not yet call him Roger he said nothing, with his mind feeling somehow more clear and less aggrieved. By the time he had made it up to the first branch, where Silas had been perched, Silas had swung out further along its length some ten feet from the ground and plucked several fruits, letting them drop harmlessly to the grass below. He then pulled a flower from its leaf and twig, setting it carefully in the nape of his lips before himself falling deftly to the turf below.

The fruit was blue and large in the palm of the hand. Silas had his first opportunity to examine it with any amount of thoroughness, crouched and huddled over it as it lay delicately in the short, life-filled, blades of grass. It was soft, as he picked it up and smelled it. After one whiff he was sure it would taste better than any fruit, or even food for that matter, that he had tasted before in his entire life. The short yielding hairs that covered its ovular surface gave it a lush supple feeling which tickled his fingers slightly, but before he had a chance to draw it to his mouth the king shouted out.

"Look at me! Now it's your turn to watch!" he said, almost brimming with childish joy.

It didn't take for the king to say it twice, and soon after he had said it Silas rotated his head upward and gazed incisively at the man above him who now violently bounced up and down while he stood tall on a branch, its strength still to great to allow for any breakage. Then, much to Silas' chagrin, the crowned king rustled his way further up the thinning trunk until he was a good thirty feet from the ground. And yet still further he climbed, for what reason Silas could only speculate. Perhaps he cared only for attention, whether it was positive or negative.

After long he had gone high as he could be made to go and his companion on the ground only wondered at how bone crushing of a fall it would be should his friend in the air lose his steady grip.

"I can see forever! Truly forever! All the way out into the infinite cosmos." shouted the king with a gaining elation. Silas however was more cautious, and though he had been known to climb a tree or two in his day his concern won out.

"Come down from there!" called Silas."Before something terrible happens!"

"Pessimist!" the king cat-called back to him.

Before the statement had even sunk into Silas mind he had taken the blue fruit, swollen with its sweet nectar, and jammed it into his mouth. Biting down softly at first, as if to savor the newness of its taste, he then pulled it from his mouth and widened his eyes in their sockets, showing revelation. The ovular fruit in his hand was so tasty that it had shocked him to his bones. He then bit quickly into again and again, its juices running down his moist chin until there was nothing left of it but the rough grainy pit.

"King! You must come down here at once and try this fruit. I think you will find it more delicious than any other you have ever tried or bitten in to."

"Oh don't kid yourself!" the king bellowed down the length of the tree. "You can't trick me into abandoning my perch, I've waited a lifetime for a moment such as this."

"Well while you are up there at least try one, if you can reach it. You will find it better then the finest food you could have dreamed of!"

Roger weighed his options for a moment. A part of him sincerely believed Silas but for the most part he thought that his opinion was overstated and had a mind to continue as he was doing, his gleaming eyes searching the heavens. However the fruit that Silas had so highly praised was within his grasp, and he plucked it, its warm afterglow resonating in his heart. He took one last short look at the sky, seeing that no one star seemed to shine more brightly than all the others, like the sun would, and that even so light was evenly distributed. Finally he turned his head to his full hand and bit down, genuinely amazed by the sweetness and flavor of the fruit.

"My word!" he said hushed. "What is this place? How can everything, every last detail, be so perfect and appeasing?"

Silas had not entirely heard what his friend, who was quickly growing on him, had said.

"What was that you said?"

"Nothing, nothing." the king hollered back in between chomps.

As soon as he had finished eating his fruit he spat the pit as far as it would carry from the top of the tree where he nested and then climbed down as fast as a lightening bolt. He dropped to the ground from the lowest branch and crouched next to Silas, whom he noticed had eaten at least three of the blue fruits. Roger watched on for a moment before he patted his mate on the back.

"Let us go and explore this place more. I feel and pray that there is much more here than we have at first glance caught sight of." said king Roger softly.

"Alright." said Silas, rising to his feet. Then a thought occurred to him. "Why is it, again, that we are here wandering around instead of satisfying the many questions we have with that man. What was his name? Jas…Japser…"

"No…" the king interjected, chuckling quietly. "His name was Jasper; at least I believe that it is. And for all intentions and purposes he is my court jester. Now though I suspect he is something else entirely. He did say that we needed time to recuperate, and I agree with him."

Chapter Twenty-One

After walking silently amid the presence of each other, their minds still reeling, Roger and Silas stumbled across a small patch of brightly shining flowers that seemed to be glowing with every color in the rainbow. The king picked one and brought it closer to his eye and nose to gain a better sense of it.

"What if this is all some sort of distraction? How can we be certain that we are not here merely as guests, but also as ones who are expected to believe everything they are told?" the king said silently to Silas.

"That sounds to me like mere paranoia. We both have the intimate sense that the man over in that house saved our lives and if he had truly been intent on deceiving us he could just as easily have left us for dead." Responded Silas quietly, picking a budding flower of his own. They had stopped walking and stood firm in the patch of blossoms each trying to read into the other.

"To me all of this just seems too suspicious, as if we are all part of a larger picture we cannot yet see. At least that is how the jester made things seem to me, and I hate more than anything to be the tool of another man." The king seemed to avoid eye contact as he spoke, as if sensing that what he said were some type of blasphemy against their savior, Jasper.

"Well then if we must speculate we should come up with an answer to what caused that fog, or even more so what caused the sky to light as if it was aflame in my home town so many moons ago."

"What do you mean light the sky as if it was aflame?"

"Ahh… nothing. I just feel that an incident from my past was connected to all this madness."

"And what was the incident. Tell me, I'm dying to know."

At that statement Silas winced as it reminded him of Mary, but for some reason in this place he felt as though he were freer than before. That the ailments he once felt could not reach him.

"One night, before I had ever been conscripted, burning streaks of light tore through the sky and crashed down into a nearby lake where my love and I rested. We thought it to be the end of the world, no… the universe. We woke our town and they rioted, claiming the life of my beloved. As I recall it, I now see the potential connection to the fog more clearly than ever, though I am loathe to admit it."

Roger, who had never been known for his sensitivity now clamored on the inside, trying to think of the best way to set his friends mind at ease.

"Even though she did not live your love must truly carry on. I can see it in you. I had noticed something before but had not known what to call it. Now I know that it is your steadfast fidelity and passion."

"You flatter me." Silas said disinterestedly, still pontificating the many pieces of his new puzzle.

"Still…" said the king. "I think we are overlooking the most obvious component of this whole episode. What if for reasons we could neither fathom nor understand this jester, this man who so often plays the fool, is playing us? Could he not have used whatever power it is that he has to summon the fog, or in your case the burning sky?"

"I see what you are saying." said Silas. "Perhaps this was all a ruse to gain our trust. But what would he need it for? Don't take this personally but between the two of us it doesn't seem as though we have any special talents."

"I guess I just don't know what to make of this all. As far as I see it from this point on, though we can't trust the ground we walk on, I will allow my jester to take my confidence."

Seeing that there was little point in lengthening any further arguments Silas pointed off across the way.

"Let's check out that jetty, or wharf, or pier, or whatever it is supposed to be." said Silas tentatively.

"Right ho, friend. I do have the right to call you friend don't I?" asked the king with ardor.

"Of course. While I admit it wasn't directly my plan to save you from the cruel death that seemed due to you I was happy to do it."

"Whatever do you mean? It wasn't your plan?"

"Actually I was more than a little offended that I was being forced to fight in your army, though all that has paled in significance to what is going on now."

"Please, tell me all, I swear that I won't hold anything against you. This is a clear opportunity for me to gain a better understanding of my troop's mentality, though they are all dead now, I suppose."

"Please, don't say that I was your trooper. I never truly did fight for you, there are much better things to live and die for than a man who is vain enough to sacrifice any amount of lives for some type of military conclusion."

The king was hurt by this but did his best not to show it. As he reflected more and more on what was being said he saw the absolute truth to it and though on any other occasion he might have become murderously peeved at someone who would say those things to him he now sucked in his chest and pride.

"I suppose you are right. It can't really be anyone's place to command life or death. I let my temper guide too many of my actions. Now, though, I have the most peculiar alleviations and doubts about my self prior to this place."

"Perhaps it is merely a bout of conscience. Some say we all have one, you know."

The king felt the misgivings growing in his chest, as though he were now free to see something that had always been there but that he had always deigned to overlook. Silas sensed that perhaps he had struck a nerve and played silent for the moment, instead concentrating on his own footfalls toward their new destination. They had begun the short stroll not but moments ago in an effort to better understand the mystery of this place and both now felt the small pang of regret from the little bit of friction they had generated. Everything seemed perfect. After his calculated time of quiet Silas put forth the question that rumbled deepest in his gut.

"What is it like to be king? How do you compose yourself?"

Roger, now embarrassed of his own behavior as ruler of his land, cautiously probed the depth of the thought in his mind before rubbing his chin plaintively.

"Being the one, the chosen, the ruler, the king, or what have you, is something I should have done better in the time that I had to do it. Though I can't explain why I have been more swayed by this place to question my past actions then ever before. I now somehow see the glaring flaws that I let develop in myself. How I let myself naturally look down on those beneath, those such as yourself. How I demanded satisfaction when it was not due. What had I become? Perhaps this fog was punishment for all that."

"Are you sure that you want to go on believing that? I have an open mind about things but to me it seems entirely absurd that some higher power would set about to meddle in the affairs of one persons life."

"I am the king." said Roger postulating in his defense.

Silas shook his head in disregard.

"And I am sure that that has to count for something." said Silas.

Within seconds of him having spoken those words they arrived at the large wooden door set in the stone of the domed building, having crossed the mind bending walkway that was like a wharf. They stepped up to the entrance, running both their hands over its carvings. For the feel of it was enormous and Silas wondered at who must have spent such time on artistry of this nature, or quality for that matter. The king, however, seemed enamored with the depictions themselves which showed two people, a man and women facing each other with arms raised toward the heavens which were scattered with stars. Beyond that the look and feel of thick ivy was carved deep into the wood, its relief both stunning and beautiful. Holding their breaths, and not quite sure what to expect, they punched the door inward.

"He did say we could go anywhere." Silas said as if to justify himself. In truth he did feel a tinge of guilt from taking the run of the place and opening doors that were initially closed to himself and the king. Looking on Silas saw a huge instrument made with metals that shined and gleamed. Seeing the gears and theirs shafts Silas was immediately reminded of his intrepid friends.

"I had friends who would have loved to see this. They would have known what to make of it."

In whole it was a mirrored telescope that was nearly thirty feet in length and sat massive on its bearings in the pit of the structure that had been built to house it. Though neither Silas nor the king had any idea what it was or what to make of it they could see a mounted seat and eyepiece to look through. The king, not quite as spellbound as his comrade, merely took it in full stride and began moving toward the obvious chair and eyepiece.

"Your friends did not die in that terrible battle, did they?" asked Roger.

"No, not by a long shot. They joined the intellectual block that you had working for you, to create a cathedral I think it was. I tried myself but when they realized that I had no experience with such matters they drove me out and forced me into military service. I am not truly sure what became of them. I lament everyday without them."

"I suppose you must be tired of seeing me, or sore at least, for being the one who was so obviously behind all of your recent woes."

"You aren't behind all of them. You of all people must see that."

But the king was already distracted and had planted himself firmly in the telescope's chair, his mind churning over all the possibilities of what it could be. Silas noticed the open slit in the ceiling for the lenses to collect light, but said nothing. By then the king had jammed his eye up against the viewing piece and looked out into the already remarkably clear star lit backdrop.

"My goodness!" he hissed, straining his body against the telescope, as if that would give him a better line of sight.

"What do you see, King?"

"It is as if this device somehow amplified light beyond anything I had ever dreamed. I have heard of telescopes myself, and did not recognize this as one for its massive size, but it is clear that this is its function. You must come see this. I see a swirling disc of light with a glowing center, it is astounding!"

Silas moved closer, though entirely unsure of what to make of all the commotion. He ran his hand over the railing that seemed to surround the seat where the king looked on in glee. Walking with a deliberate sense of reason Silas stood over the king's shoulder just as Roger figured out the mechanisms for realigning the fullness of the telescope. A small control pad with a series of knobbed levers sat within arm's reach, though he had forgotten to address them in all the excitement of finding this behemoth. Toggling them he felt a deep rumble and heard a high pitched whining noise as some unseen motor of change repositioned the telescope and changed its focus. The king was as enthusiastic as Silas had ever seen him, moving the whole machine, and his little platform, about in wild gyrations and spins.

"I thought that you had wanted me to see what you saw through the telescope." Silas patted the king on the back softly as a reminder.

Completely lost in himself Roger did his best to stave off his mounting interest and give Silas a chance. He noticed how easy it had become to share an object like this so deeply rooted in his desire as he stood and ushered his companion into the seat. He knew that before he would have had all the attachments and troubles in the world in letting go of something of this magnitude. But now he seemed once again and in someway free. Silas positioned his rump over the cushioned seat and sat at ease, still off his normal balance and sway from hanging around with the king. This was something he wished Mary could see. Good old Silas rubbing palms with the king in a heavenly islanded paradise. The pit of doubt and regret settled in his gut, and he repressed it. There was nothing he could do about that now. He pressed his eye against the piece and did as he saw Roger do when moving the entire contraption. After an instant or so of fiddling with the levers he mastered the control pad and scanned the sky looking for something to zero in on and experience the wonders of the universe as his majesty the king had done. And there he had it. Toggling and jostling the telescope to and fro he huffed and breathed but was rewarded nonetheless with a sight his eyes had never seen and a notion his mind could never dream.

One lone solitary star burning with an eminence all its own loomed in the lenses of the machine. Silas stared at it, jaw agape. It was remarkable. Beyond remarkable.

It was a miracle.

The telescope was so powerful, and fortunately the star was close enough, for Silas to make out ribbons of flame shooting up from the star. While he could not identify them as being made entirely of flame and had no working knowledge of what a star was even remotely composed of, he was still impressed. Quickly rationalizing what he saw he realized that this particular star must have been super massive, that its seeming green glow, bright powerful, was something of a force of astounding change.

"Marvelous…truly marvelous."

After he had finished looking up, and the king had taken something of a second turn, they both poked around feeling heady and full of themselves, chirping about how great and beyond normal reality what they had experienced was.

They weren't slouches in their meddling. Roger, running his hands and fingers over almost every loose knick and knack that he saw lying about the building found a toy gyroscope with pictographic instructions and began spinning it while Silas sat analyzing star charts and maps that were printed with methods far beyond his comprehension. Nearly drunk on the vastness of what they were doing they both rummaged about turning things inside out in their quest for new knowledge and objects of interest. As time ticked by they completely lost sight of its passage, consumed by the fresh beat of a different drum. Finally the giddy pair seemed to come to their senses.

"Perhaps we've seen enough of all this." Silas said loudly across to the king.

"Perhaps we have, but until we've seen it all we'll never know for certain." the king said.

"Don't be ridiculous. I suspect that if we were to truly understand all of this it would take a lifetime."

"I'm still content to look around." said the king.

"Be reasonable, you have had your fill for today. Who knows, there may even be more to see around this…plantation…even though I am not sure what to call it." Silas added.

"All right, we'll have it your way." hailed the king. "We will stop for now. I never realized how much curiosity I burned with until this ordeal. This whole day has been quite unreal."

Collecting themselves and making several halfhearted attempts to reset and clean up they exited through the door by which they had entered.

"Are you satisfied? Recuperated even?" Silas asked the king jokingly.

"Only to my soul, though I do confess that I seem to have worn myself thin."

Once outside the building they were once again overtaken by the sheer scope of the universe that they had inherited when they trained their attentions to it. Silas, braver than he had ever been, walked right up to the edge of the walkway and gasped as he did so, peering downwards into what appeared to be a never ending whorl of cosmos. The king followed after him and felt the same deep appreciation and unspeakable awe as he gazed downward, though direction and scale seemed meaningless and disorienting when applied to this place.

"Perhaps we should head back to those buildings over their and see if there is some place for us to rest our sleepy heads. All of that has made me more tired than I would have liked." Silas stated plainly.

"I suppose…" said the king with half a heart to convince Silas to explore more. Roger's confidence had grown and he felt more alive and real than he had ever. While he bent his neck and peered over the edge he braced the crown on his head with a steady hand, which Silas seemed to notice.

"Why the crown?" he asked with direction.

"Why the crown?" responded Roger in mock confusion. "What could you mean by that?"

"I mean at all. Why the crown at all. It seems to me like a terrible inconvenience. A burden almost. So I ask you again, why the crown?"

Pulling away from the edge, and beginning the light walk back in the direction of the outcrop of buildings where they had left Jasper, the king mulled silently, feeling an old familiar indignation at being questioned out of turn. He deftly denied himself the fit of anger that he might have once pursued and instead treaded a more dignified route.

"I suppose…" the king stammered gazing wistfully upward, "it has always been that way. But for me it was the glory and power that I clung to. The raw unparalleled potential. It was how everyone had to acknowledge that I was more like a god, or _the_ god, than they could ever be. It was something I saw as necessary to keep a suitable distance between myself and my subjects." Thinking even as he spoke the king wondered at his sudden burst of personal insight and commented on the matter. "My how this place has changed me, even in the short time that we have spent here, and I may have said this before, I feel like a new person. A newborn babe."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Silas interjected sarcastically. "You clearly still have a ways to go yet."

"Why, because I still wear the crown? Or am I merely to arrogant by nature for you to stomach?" Roger was becoming peeved and had little problem letting it show.

"I suspect," the king continued. "That I am this way merely because my life practically flashed before my eyes. That things beyond my reason have tempered me. That blasted fog for instance…"

"I suppose I should apologize. I had a clear idea of what you might have said anyway." Silas said at last.

"Then let us speak no more of it." The king huffed.

A few moments of stark silence passed between the two of them as they ruminated dispassionately. Roger could feel the boiling irritation that always led to resentment in him, but quelled it. Silas, delving into his deeper feelings of dislike for what the king had represented to him also fought to stave off true annoyance. In all they merely kept a smile close at hand, knowing that whatever life had been before now it was sure to fade in comparison to what was going on around them at that very moment.

"So," said Roger after he felt satisfied with the calm and quiet, "what explanation for this and all that is around us have you fabricated? I'd sure like to hear any of your insights. My suspicion is devilish magic."

"There is no way for me to be certain but I feel that your jester will have a suitable explanation. We mustn't doubt ourselves. That much I know to be certain."

"Hmm…" said the king. "Your mind must be just as blank as mine then. I have tried in secret to discover the truth of all this but it seems that I cannot see the forest for the trees. Everything I think of is too crazy, almost hysterical."

"I agree it is something we should worry about, but again, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We will have our answers. In the mean time, I think I will need some rest, at least a very little bit. Let's investigate these other buildings, I'm sure that I will find someplace to close my weary eyes."

No sooner had he said that than he and the king arrived at the door of one of the buildings, which looked suspiciously like houses in their own right. Pulling the door open they walked into see a blue carpeted floor quiet unlike anything they had experienced. There was a spiral staircase tucked into one of the corners but the center of the room was dominated by a strange looking chair made of materials that neither of the two of them had ever seen before. It had a cushion for the head built into it and a visor that was partially translucent and made to pivot down over the eyes once seated. Walking straight to it and seeing that it was the only feature to this floor of the building, beside a console riddled with buttons, Silas ran his hands over the arm rest feeling the straps attached to it designed to hold the arm in place. He didn't know to be frightened of it, he didn't have the deepest sense of what it was, but from what he did see and feel it reminded him of some type of mock throne.

"What do you suppose that could be?" asked Roger, hopping diligently into the chair. The seat gave no response to his weight and slightly precautious the king set his forearms on the armrests.

"My, aren't you the brave one." was Silas' only retort, a little dismayed and disappointed that he had been beaten to the seat. Watching Roger sit there, drumming his fingers like an eager child he only wished that he had sat down first. Seeing that it was too late for that he merely continued to look it over, searching for any obvious signs of function. Finding none he began to feign disinterest, stretching his arms, as if to pry the king from its folds. After a moment Roger could only determine too well what was going on from Silas' strange behavior.

"I see." he said. "You want to have your go with it." The chair was mounted in the floor from beneath the seat and had a foot rest attached to it. When he found that the chair was more mobile than he had initially taken it for Roger braced himself and spun the entire thing around in circles gleefully before hopping out of it and catching his balance again. Once he had equilibrium he bowed sarcastically and gestured for Silas to take his turn.

Silas hopped into the chair and flipped the visor down over his face to see what action it might affect. Nothing happened. Silas, not being one to give up easily, poked at it with his finger. Still, nothing happened. After spinning the chair once or twice he rose from it and patted the king on the back.

"Let's get out of here." said Silas.

"I'd be more than happy to oblige."

The door opened one last time and they strolled through the entrance way out into the terrace. Still looking for a place to rest they tried the next nearest building and were pleasantly shocked. After entering it they found a room with two large beds that were more comfortable looking than any they had ever used. It was a lavish room and no expense seemed to have been spared, even by the king's standards.

"Well what do you make of this?" Silas asked, doing his best to digest what he saw.

"It is just what we ordered."

"It's probably nothing you are not used to." Silas probed the king, curious as to how he lived but unwilling for the moment to take a direct line of action in his questionings.

After plopping down onto the nearest bed the king laid back with his hands behind his head, testing the mattress for springiness and elasticity.

"On the contrary. I've never had any bed this welcoming in my life, though I wish I had."

"You and I both."

Silas walked over to the unoccupied bed and sat on its edge, surprised by the ease with which it conformed to his touch. Pleased and ameliorated he laid back and closed his eyes ready to fall asleep.

"So what are you used to?" the king asked, for some reason unwilling to let Silas be and sleep.

"Me?" asked Silas placating. "I'm used to good old straw and quilts, nothing fancy like you must have had. And if I didn't sleep on that it was because I must have been sleeping outside under the stars, enjoying the weather."

"It must have been terrible." Roger said jokingly. "I mean, having nothing of the soft pleasantries that I suspect I must have grown accustomed to."

"If that was what made you truly happy," Silas said, "then I suppose that must have been enough for you. I for one never truly minded because I had my Mary to stick by my side. I would trade all the riches and comforts in the world for her."

"Odd," said the king, "truly odd."

"Have it your way then." Silas said slightly angered. "Grow old alone and place all of your faith in those you command and the destitute riches you acquire for yourself. In war even."

Sensing that he must have struck a nerve the king merely said nothing for a time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I suppose we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow." Roger stated softly, as if to distract himself and Silas from the silence, but by that time Silas was already asleep. Wrapping himself in the wide berth of sheets that covered his bed the king then began to try to do likewise, only now that he was in a position to do so he could only think about what Silas had said.

He wouldn't die old and alone, he thought, his life had more meaning than that. Restless and unsettled Roger roused himself from his bed and went out into the terrace to gaze at the heavens one last time. Everything had its own aura of serenity and Roger could almost taste it. Liking more and more what he saw he remembered the tree he had climbed and the awe inspiring view it offered.

Silas wouldn't mind that he had gone off without him, not that he owed any accountability to him. Still, deep down and on the inside he felt as though he owed him honesty and kindness for having saved his life. It was a queer leaf to turn but as he walked back to the tree he felt the strong wave of vengeance that he held so dearly throughout his military debacle. As he rationalized, now that Silas was asleep and out of sight, he couldn't allow himself to become weak. But further still he could not carry on with the façade of callous that had so often been his way. He would have to come to some sort of compromise in his own nature if he was to find the peace he now devoutly sought after.

The tree stood in front of him, its bark aglow. Caressing it the king let his worries drift out of mind and scurried up its trunk to pluck more of the succulent fruits it offered. He wouldn't climb it too high, he was more tired than he previously thought. Instead he hovered and bounced around the lower branches, jealous of himself from when he held the awesome view up higher. The ground was no less awesome, and as he dropped to it from the lowest branch, to where several fruits had landed, he looked up once again. There was a peculiar something that always drew his attention to the totality of what he could see.

Greedily he munched on the blue fruit and hummed to himself.

He was long overdue he realized. He should have considered the safety of his kingdom long before, but he had been distracted. He now delved into the what-if's of what might soon happen in his monarchical domain without himself around. Perhaps, he reasoned, the Praetor would think him dead and name a new king from the nobles. With no heir he couldn't be sure who would eventually seize power, though he new his Praetor would as much as graciously decline any hold or offer for the throne.

But it had only been a few days, not even enough time for the news to rationally travel back to his homeland, where he now desperately longed to be. He considered the long list of names and faces and tried to piece together who would have come to power after himself, not that it mattered. He would get home long before that could possibly become a factor.

Perhaps he should do as Silas had done and pursue love. Perhaps he should produce an heir. Perhaps, but how could he know for certain? He didn't feel as though he wanted to, or even that it was at all necessary, but he could feel the sting of what Silas had said to him before. He had little if any experience with true love, but there could always be a first time.

His eyes began to droop. With no sun in the sky it was nearly impossible for him to keep track of the ebb of time. He sat with his back leaning against the grounded trunk of the tree with his legs stretched out before him and his crossed feet inches away from a jutting root. Having taken his fill of nourishment from the tree he soon found the wakeful world to be too much for his heavy eyelids, closing them with a vigilant gusto.

As his mind drifted off he could almost feel the song of this place, the one that every particle and brick and leaf sang in unison to exist in perfect harmony. His chest slumped over and his hands relaxed as his head dipped into his breast. The scented aroma of the pits of fruit was the last thing he smelled as he finally lost consciousness.

Several hours later he awoke, more alive and refreshed than he ever felt. It was a new day and time for him to get to the bottom of all the recent fanfare. True he had rested, and true he had delayed, but now his resolve was stronger. He would ask the questions, the hard questions, and he would make sure that Silas did likewise. The burning hollow of desire called out to him, told him to satisfy his knowledge. He could feel that a great many things hung in the balance of what the jester might tell him. Before he knew it he was walking back to the terrace in order to find Jasper when Silas suddenly loomed over him, seeming to have come from nowhere.

"Good day, King." Silas stretched his lithe body in an effort to get himself moving. Roger took note and clung to his own steel will.

"Good day to you Silas, if it is indeed day. It feels like we have slept for far less time than we normally might but at the same time we are better rested."

"True enough. Perhaps now we can get some answers."

"That was my exact intimation. Let us find this jester and see what he has to tell, but first let's get a few things straight."

"And just what might that be?" Silas asked, accidentally misinterpreting Roger's statement.

"I mean nothing hurtful by that. Simply that we need a plan, a mentality. No weaknesses. We must appear prevalent and steadfast when dealing with this man, for I and you have seen his sorcery and though I trust him he still might command the power of illusion."

"The power of illusion," said Silas ponderously, "that is a dangerous thing."

"No doubt about it. And don't be intimidated. I have resolved not to. We must ask whatever questions suit us instead of being captivated by his presence, which I admit is much easier than we realized."

"Let's find him then." said Silas. "What I most want to know is how that fog came to be. No… What I most want to know is if the power behind that is at the root of the flaming sky I once experienced."

"We shall soon see." was the king's only reply. "We shall soon see."

Silas and Roger walked side by side up to the building that they had yesterday, or if not that than many hours ago, seen Jasper go into. Once they stood at the door Silas tentatively looked to the king.

"Should we knock? Or is that not a part of our mentality? I feel your fire, I say we barge in." Silas said the last bit in jest to lighten their spirits and the king grinned. Roger raised his hand to knock but at the moment that his closed fist would have struck the door it suddenly swung inward revealing the subtle and composed face of Jasper. Jasper wore clothes very similar to the ones he had worn before, though they were of a different hue, and with the notion of duty evident in his eyes he gestured and invited them in. Roger was the first to cross the threshold and was soon after followed by Silas who looked around attentively. The inside was nothing other than living quarters with couches and chairs as well as stairs that Silas presumed might lead to a bedroom. On the whole the domicile was not at all small but rather accommodating and spacious. Jasper gravely smiled and pointed a long finger to the seats in the house.

"Please, make your selves at home for I have much to tell you."

"Then let's get to it." Roger said excitedly taking a seat and drawing Silas to a couch with him. Once they were seated Jasper merely inhaled a deep breath, as if this were the calm before the storm, and sat down across from them.

"You may have felt it," Jasper said soothingly, "you may have even heard of it, but I doubt you have experienced its full force for yourself."

Silas was becoming more affixed with what he said with every passing moment.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"The dark star my friends, nothing less than the dark star." Jasper said as though Silas had never spoken.

"Perhaps we don't understand you, or perhaps you are just being vague, but what exactly is that?" Roger said with a degree of disdain.

The jester gave the tiniest of frowns and then slapped his hands down over his thighs.

"Well perhaps then you just don't want to hear the rest of what I have to say, o noble King." Jasper spat the word king with a considerable degree of scornful consideration.

Sighing, the king quickly apologized beneath his breath and gestured that Jasper should continue.

"All right then, if we're through with all the rudeness. You'll both understand that I'm telling you what I am telling you because I consider it to be truly necessary. But anyway, the dark star is something of untold potential, for it is at its root still a Genesis star."

"And what then, is a Genesis star?" asked the king, deliberately and politely.

"Genesis stars are the oldest things of all the universe. They are relics of the creation when things flowed with a separate energy and matter emerged from void. What you must understand is this. Through the countless eons the Genesis stars gained a vast knowledge and power based on the fair principles of wisdom and age. In short they knew the symbols and code that determined the very makeup of life and a great many things else." Jasper said mutedly.

"You make it sound as though they are alive themselves, conscious, to be bartered with. Are they?" Silas asked with the same hush as Jasper.

"No, no, you misunderstand. They are not alive, they don't eat or sleep or breathe. Rather, they are such a vast collection of information that they naturally developed powers, and the power of intention. There is no greater force in the entire world, the galaxy, or even what we all call reality that can match them. You can even see and feel the caustic authority they command if you ever find one. They glow bright and golden and the symbols that make them up dance across their surfaces. It is hard enough to imagine, let alone describe. I do know this though, they are benevolent and benign. From what information I have garnered it seems as though they may be the fundamental cause for life as we know it.

"But let me tell you a more personal truth. Long ago, for as you might have already guessed or suspected I do not age as normal men, I discovered one for my self. I learned a great many things and the power that you, Roger, saw me exercise over the still body of Silas was a gift from them. I came from a time and place far away and far gone from here, and in my youth I discovered the fiery might of a Genesis star. I was so calmed and frightened at the same time by what I found that the shock nearly shattered me. I left the star at once and went to find help to see what I had truly uncovered. However, the more that I reasoned it the more I came to conclude that I should keep what I learned to myself. And I did.

"But I came back to it. And back again, and back again, until one day I gained my courage and began to feel and touch it with my hand. Almost immediately I was sucked into it where I felt it gathering information from my mind and sharing its awesome ageless deliberations with me. Soon after connecting with it I realized that it was offering me something, the chance to fuse with it. After little consideration I did. For me it did not take a stroke of brilliance to realize that it was good and great, and that even with a small portion of its understanding I stood to gain much power. In fusing with it I became a new man.

"I inherited all the abilities that you have seen me use and much knowledge besides and one of the things I learned was that there were other Genesis stars, many others, and I could also join my soul and will to them the same as what I had done with the first one. And immortality. I gathered after I was released from the Genesis star that immortality was a distinct possibility should I learn myself off of many more stars. Already then I felt the wellsprings of youth take root in me and though I am not immortal I age much more slowly."

Silas and Roger listened to Jasper with an unmatchable interest. Considering what they had already seen they took everything he said verbatim and let it soak deep into their minds.

"So how then did this dark star come to be?" Silas asked, almost instinctively.

Jasper got a faraway look in his eyes and then sighed.

"Now that, I cannot tell you."

"Why not?" asked Silas and Roger in unison.

"Because I do not know for certain. This is how it looks to me. Long ago there was a race of people not at all unlike our selves that became so far intelligent in their technologies that they soon began to experiment in things that are far beyond normal comprehension. My suspicions, based on tidbits of fact and history that I have assembled and picked up over time, are that they eventually discovered the Genesis stars. I think that in all the hype they considered the power they had encountered and sought to bend the stars to their will. I believe that the dark star I spoke of is little more than their attempts to turn a Genesis star into an unstoppable weapon."

"Well what separates this dark star from any other Genesis star?" asked Silas robustly, remembering that the king had said to develop a mentality.

"Well, as I know it, there is something called the universal spirit web. We are all composed of tiny indivisible strings of potential that information can traverse indefinitely. As it is, there are bridges that any entity that knows what it is doing can create between objects, people, animals and anything else. The dark star has the ability to manipulate life and change its course, altering fundamentally what it is and it seems to do so without discrimination. It can control weather and change the flow of time, but above all it can influence the minds of weaker beings. That is ironically one of the points that I had hoped to communicate with you. What signs of tampering might I find if I were to now everything about the two of you?"

The king scratched his head, deep in his ponderings.

"You mean have there been any anomalous occurrences lately? And just what would it benefit us to tell you?"

"In time you will see, but for now I will tell you this. The dark star brings exclusive harm and pain to those who become entangled with it. Its tendrils reach out across its spiritual bridges tampering and toying with any and all who fall in its path. I might be able to save you."

Both Silas and Roger took a brief moment to consider the implications of what had just been said, both breaking into a cool sweat.

"Well I suppose I should tell you then." said Silas before Roger ever had the opportunity to speak. "I have been having these dreams."

"And I have had a vision." Roger exclaimed quickly, noting the similarity between himself and Silas.

"-And in my dreams I am often wandering. At one point I saw an incalculable number of faces attached to morphing bodies, but only they were dumbly composed, ineffably empty of souls. What could that mean?"

"It is probably your mind connecting to the dark star as it shares the enigma of its evil intentions with you. Perhaps it wants this for all people." said Jasper, willing himself to show his quiet.

"What is its ultimate intention?" asked Roger.

"As I understand things it feeds off of the bridges that are created from fear and it desires to subjugate all life that can think or feel, to serve its own vile ends. That is almost entirely contrary to what Genesis stars want. They all desire growth and freedom for all things, and they enforce the peace."

"How can you say what the dark star would want?" Roger asked, impetuously.

"I belong to a secret society that looks into those things. Remember, I once knew your father. We were both helping the Enfuriae."

Roger gasped.

Remembering back, he realized with a horror, that he had purchased a book of tales that mentioned them. That was the same day as his appalling vision, which he was reluctant to speak of.

"So you, at least, know the fog in all its mechanisms. I am to understand that this dark star created the fog from its inescapable powers and you fought it, or at least try to?" Roger was agile of mind and caught his mental balance quickly, though he felt as though he had been sent for a loop.

"Precisely." the jester replied evenly. "So you know of us?"

"I read a tale about you, how you guard ancient connections to other worlds."

"That is only partially true. Our main agenda was to find all the Genesis stars that there are and merge our minds with them. Fighting the dark star was merely an unfortunate side effect."

"Is the genesis star how you have the island among the stars?" Silas asked, breaking the flow of conversation.

"No, not at all my dear friend. This was something I discovered. The oldest race, the one that meddled with the workings of the Genesis stars thinking themselves all powerful must have left this, and other sites, artifacts and runes behind. I merely discovered it. The device that you saw me use to transport us all here is an invention of theirs, undoubtedly. There are far more places like this one and I have chosen to call this one home. I lack the genius required to even grasp the theories that race must have known when making my abode. Fortunately for me it survived for all this time in working order."

"If they were so wise and spirited, what became of them? Did the dark star get them too?" The king asked incredulously.

"As rumor, myth, and legend tell it they either destroyed themselves in a war or become so powerful that they physically transformed themselves into beings that live on the universal spirit web, creating bridges with their minds and living in general utopia. But how could I say for certain?"

"So what part did my father play in all this?" asked Roger.

"Only that he knew what he needed to know. In the past few decades my watch over the dark star has proved inconveniently fruitful. The dark star was gaining power from it fell deeds, from the gaps in wrongdoing it had bridged, which seems to make it only stronger and thirstier. Beyond, that your father was under the dark star's influence, I took little note of him."

"Am I, too, under the dark star's influence?" Roger quipped.

"Though I am certain you are, you must determine that for yourself. It has blinded you, but you must rise to the occasion and free your mind. You must see it, here in this place, how you carry a much more level head. That is simply because here you are beyond its reach. For all those years I can only imagine that it must have been cajoling you, tempting you and breaking you. Tell me, are you a man of impulse? Of course you don't have to answer that, I already now the truth. For years you fought off its control of your thoughts but you succumbed. You wanted war, terror, chaos in no small part. On some level inside you must have desired peace of state, though you could not find it. The dark star, I know has already twisted your mind so, Roger, because through you it can command those philosophical bridges in far greater volumes and effect before it finally strikes, which I know and feel that it is rising to do."

"And what of me?" asked Silas, nearly ready to sob. "What special interest did it take in me when it must have filled the sky with fire and driven my town mad?"

"That is nothing you should blame yourself for." Jasper said gently. "It must have intervened to sate its taste for pandemonium in your case. To the dark star every action that we take has its own particular flavor and destroying a town full of individuals would have fueled it in ways I can't explain."

"But it wasn't my fault? It was I who roused them before they broke down and rioted. It was me who is responsible for Mary's death!"

"Calm yourself, for now your mind is free. You must forge your emotions anew and realize that some things are beyond your control."

"You're right." Said Silas, in an effort to control himself. "I suppose in truth I can't be blamed."

"But tell me," Jasper said probingly, "What other madness has the dark star wrought in your life? Your town rioted because the sky was burning, you say you've had dreams, anything else?"

"Not of note. My friends and I found a strange rock in a collapsed fort, but it had no real value."

"Strange rock? Did it make you feel nauseous at all, Silas? Weird in any way?"

"Well, yes. But what does that mean?"

"It means that the rock was altered by the dark star, probably the last time that it tried to gain power. It may likely have special properties it might be used for-"

"But what about me?" the king shot in wildly. "I too have had a vision. My mind was over come by this dark star of yours, it showed me a massive leathery beast with wings and flame. Advise me now, what was that about? "

"As I see it," said Jasper it must have been prying into your mind, but that is only speculative. It seems to have taken a far greater interest in Silas. Perhaps it intends to use you, whatever ill it brings we can't afford to wait and do nothing."

"We?" said the king, a little peeved. "This all sounds like your fight. I still don't know why you were my court jester. Was it just to keep an eye on me? Or was it something more subtle?"

"You are right to bear your qualms against me, for I have a secret to tell. I'll admit I was a member of your court to keep a close eye on you, and thus predict the movements of the dark star. But moreover I was a spy."

Roger's eye's narrowed and the air became electric with his energy.

"And what, tell me, was your role as a spy?" asked Roger carefully.

"I clearly had to keep an eye on more than one government at once. Yours was merely the more important of the two. Though if you are to suspect treachery, you would be in part correct, for it was I acting as court jester who negotiated a deal with none other than your Praetor."

"And what deal was that?" Roger inquired heatedly.

"A deal for the throne, among other things, after your death."

Roger and Silas sat in plaintive silence, breathing it all in. Could this man before, who seemed so wise and powerful, truly have plotted things so foul, the king wondered?

"Tell me everything." said Roger plainly and murderously aghast.

"Everything? Or just everything you need to know?"

"Everything."

"Well," said the jester, "it all started decades ago when I had a degree of realization that the dark star, which had not been seen or heard of for an enormous amount of time before then was on the climb. I knew that like anything Genesis star related it would have enormous power, though in this instance it was weak and in need of growth. I suspected that it would prey upon the less intellectually advanced civilizations of my known universe and thusly I came to settle myself on this world."

"This world?" exclaimed Silas. "So there are others?"

"That I will reveal in good time. But as I became more familiar with this world I came to see that my fears were justified and that after having tracked the dark star to your world it would soon erupt in a happening of disarray and turmoil. Years ago, when your father was alive Roger, I began to notice the effects of its evil on the hearts of your citizens and so I took action. I decided to take a more direct approach to dealing with the people of this world and I put the thought into the mind of your father to investigate so that at least when the dark star came to the height of its power they would have some idea of what and how to fight."

"All very interesting." said Roger. "I received a letter from my dead father that explained a great deal of what you already told us, I wanted to believe it so badly but I was not quite sure of where to turn. I played along with you, pretending that I had no awareness of this dark star when in truth I had heard mention of it."

"And why did you do that?" asked Jasper.

"To better understand what you would truly try to make us believe, to protect my mentality."

"Well there is more yet." said Jasper. "When I realized that all the precautions I had taken in you father's time were inadequate I decided to try a more openhanded role by entering your court, and that of your closest neighbors, to safely intervene should something go wrong. That is how I came to be a spy, cooperating with your Praetor, Henry, whom I found to be the most self aligned and ambitious of spirits. After talking to him in recent days I negotiated a trade deal which I was sure you knew little about."

"And why could that matter given the things we face?" asked Silas.

"Gunpowder. In order to keep the balance of power Dorshen was gifted with its knowledge and they began trading Henry for sulfur, which is one of its key ingredients. So you see, I had your monarchy working against itself to tempt the dark star into over exposure, which it probably did. Moreover the Praetor and I meticulously plotted your death Roger, and I have already told Henry that you were confirmed to have been slain in battle, according to our plan. By now he has already seized power in Engar, and though he is a steeped in his megalomania I turned him down the road of democracy, like Dorshen, using what power I could to influence him."

A lone, solitary drop of tear came to Roger's lamenting eye.

"You have taken everything from me. My kingdom! My kingdom… what have you done?"

"Shh, Shhh…" said Jasper in an attempt to assuage him. "There is no need to become angry. Remember, you are at the helm of you mind, body, and soul now."

"What reason does he have to live, now?" asked Silas, pressuring Jasper.

"For life itself, but let's not be silly here." Jasper replied. "Let's be men of reason."

"I suppose your right." said Roger. "All that I will have to do is show my face and my supporters will regain the crown for me."

It was now Jasper's turn to act shocked, and he did so with gusto.

"Surely you know your Praetor better than that. He will surely have all those who were loyal to you removed if not executed. Perhaps to the untried mind Henry can be difficult to read."

"So why did you save us then? Hmm? To watch me scramble and struggle to retake my throne? To see me kill my closest friend and advisor, which I will now have to do if I am to reclaim my sense of honor? Is this all some joke to you, some game!?"

The king was becoming very heated and his face hollowed out in rage. But he then abated and made obvious efforts to hold his temper, instead of letting in rule him.

"I am grateful to be alive, I'm glad you kept me safe." Silas said, quite out of context. The king turned to look at him, as if to glare, but then thought better of it. Letting Roger garner his composure, for a few seconds Jasper sat absolutely still.

"How reverent of you, how thoughtful." decried Roger.

"The reason, if you'll hear me, that I kept the two of you alive, is because I consider you to be an investment of time and effort, specifically Roger. I would never want to have you killed. Heed that. I merely was intending to play Henry into your hands with as little in the way of problems as possible. I wanted to keep those already in power in place, as a matter of convenience, surely you must understand that? Restructuring the world would blow my cover, would make me shine bright for all to see, including the dark star."

"So," asked Roger. "Did you plan on having Silas save me at the last possible moment from your killer?"

"Not at all. You realize I would have forced the arrow astray anyway, though fate seems to have turned things out differently."

"Then why," questioned Silas, "was your killer someone I knew?"

"He was one of the only few people whose mind was warped enough to want to kill the king, also likely an effect of the dark star's manipulations."

"And what, for the sake of argument, do you ask of us now?" said the king.

"I ask only that you keep an open mind about you when living out your days. But really, in the coming weeks I would want you to consider spearheading an offensive against the dark star, if you can manage it."

"What of you with all your power? If you cannot stop it, how can we?" asked Silas, slightly taken aback and confused.

"The matter is not as simple as all that. You see, there is something I would like to show you."

Roger huffed a short laugh and rose to his feet, following his once court jester.

"You are lucky that I already chose to trust you."

Jasper had no response to that and only breathed evenly, waiting for Silas, the last of them, to rise to his feet also and join them. As they were walking to the door Roger spoke.

"At least tell us what it is before we see it."

"It is just a simple gateway to another mind."

"That certainly explains a lot." Silas said sarcastically.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The door swung open and the three of them stood for a brief instant beneath the miraculous heavens that so defined their field of vision. As they began the walk, following Jasper, to an adjacent building Silas could not help but wonder.

"Why does every thing here seem to glow with some oddly beautiful inner light?"

"That is because the ancients who created this place knew enough to augment the life-forces of things they chose to alter. In this case everything that is living and everything that was with eyesight."

"Perfect." Silas said in wonderment, training his eyes on the horizon.

In little time at all they entered the building that Silas and Roger recognized as the one that housed the mysterious chair, and though they were not sure of what Jasper intended to accomplish they remained outwardly apprehensive.

Once inside they identified the chair that not so long ago they had played with as the object of everyone's attentions.

"So this is what you wanted to show us? At least now we can be certain of its function." the king said with jest.

"Do not worry and have no fears. It is merely a virtual interface to a repository of knowledge left behind that I was fortunate enough to salvage and use. Among the things in there are memories of those who were overtaken by the dark star and categories for the different types of philosophical bridges it created and fed upon. And although for the moment it is not that important I thought you might like to experience."

"What magic powers it?" asked Silas, more curious than before.

"The magic of technology, which is no magic at all."

"Are you implying that this chair has prevented you from defeating the dark star? Remember why it is that you brought us here. You said you could not defeat it yourself, answer, why is that?" said Roger with a demarcating and controlled aggression.

"It is not the chair itself, but my ability to operate it."

"You speak in riddles." said Silas. "Be forthwith. You know that we can make little sense of what you say if you forgo explaining yourself."

"All right. To be blunt I would say I have an illness that affects my total being. When I first discovered the ancient technology left behind by the first race I could not operate. That all changed when I was exposed to a replicating virus that is made up entirely, as you would understand it, of the bridges that make up the universal spirit web I spoke of, which composes everything. That virus altered my fundamental matter and the code that forms me so that I would always be able to activate their miraculous technology. At the time I thought it a small price to pay, but now I know better. It has limited the amount of Genesis stars that I can fuse with. I would need the power of a new Genesis star to defeat the dark star though I cannot join with it any longer."

"Why not use the knowledge other Genesis stars gave you to fight it?" asked Silas.

"Because I already have used it, and now the dark star has adapted to my techniques. That is where you come in. The two of you might be able, with my help at the very least, locate a new genesis star and gain its power to vanquish the dark star." Jasper said, pleadingly.

"If what changed you is a virus, why hasn't it killed you, how ill did you become?" asked the king.

"I did not become ill at all because the virus in a way has been tamed not to injure. It is simply the device by which the ability to use the technology is spread."

The king seemed preoccupied by something then suddenly blurted out.

"Did this disease, or any of the Genesis stars, give you any ability to see the future?"

"No, but it is strange that you should ask."

"I only ask because I would have liked to know who would actually have won the battle you rescued us from."

"It would have been Dorshen. They had gunpowder and that is explosive. It powered their hand cannons and full cannons. I could not risk having a stable democracy overthrown by a monarchy."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" plead the king, trying to make a joke.

"I think you know very well what that means, now that your mind is freer than it has ever been."

"Always so serious…" Roger mumbled. "But then I do suppose that you have a valid point. It was downright despicable of me to throw away men's lives in that fashion. So what about this chair?"

"It is called a virtual interface, and I want to let you try it, with one condition."

"And what might that be?" asked Silas.

"That you transfer all the experiences that are directly linked to the dark star to this machine. They may be of great value in the future to me and anyone who understands them."

Silas, after a fastidious moment of thought, nodded his head in agreement.

"I suppose I would be willing to do that. If it is as easy as you make it sound I think it would be almost necessary."

The king was not so lighthearted.

"That is clearly out of the question. Drawing thoughts from mind? Where does it end? Suppose that you decide to permanently adjust me, what could I do to stop you. It's not like you didn't pay to have me killed already."

"Understand, Roger, I did only what I must."

"And how can you prove to me that this does not change the mind of an individual entirely?"

"I will let Silas go first, he will show you that nothing bad can happen."

"Alright then, if he is unscathed I will do it."

The jester was overjoyed, though he fought to hide it his expressions could barely contain his glee.

"Ok then Silas, in the chair you go."

Silas was remarkably collected throughout the ordeal. He was more than a little frightened that something would extract thoughts from his mind, but he got over it in the two seconds that it took him to sit down and pull the visor over his eyes.

"Relax." Jasper said."And one other thing. Time does not pass according to the same rate when on the inside. It may seem as though hours have passed, but for us it will be less than a minute."

"Mind numbing, truly mind numbing. How does that wor-"

But before he could finish his statement Jasper had already pressed any number of buttons on the control panel and had sent Silas' mind careening into virtual memories and turf.

Everything went black and Silas' vision was totally blank, even though his eyes were wide open behind the visor. At first he got the distinct sensation that he was falling and he could then see a sight, marked against the dark void. It was a giant sphere, a planet, though he didn't know it. Then artificial recognition came to him and he had memories of things he had never seen before, could not explain, but now knew as if they were his own.

He was in a body, human, but younger. He stood on the deck of something magnificent, something that resonated in the mind of the child he had become. It was a starcraft chiseled, cut, carved and molded against the star filled emptiness. He felt a sense of wonderment and pride as he leaned on a railing and gazed out of a massive window to the planet below. There were other people around standing, sitting in chairs, but his youthful consciousness was too interested in other happenings to care. His eyes widened and Silas could feel the longing in his heart. He wanted home but he knew better than that, home was in jeopardy, there was a war going on and both sides vied for new weapons.

As Silas thoughts were drowned out and flooded by those of his host he began to struggle and twist against the control of the boy over what was taking place. Silas wanted to know whether or not he could actually make independent motions while still learning through the eyes of another. He couldn't be sure when the muscles seemed to respond in the child. It should be possible to explore this strange new world, to walk freely. He soon realized that freedom of action was an illusion. He was as riveted in place as he had ever been, looking onto the planet below. All he could do was weather the storm.

White swirls of cloud drifted and slowly etched their way across the blue waters of the planet below. Silas suddenly remembered what they were, though he had never seen them from space. The green firmament of land reared up beneath him. As he stood there, in his child body with his child mind and child feelings he began to feel the anguish of separation. This was a colony ship, he thought, as a tear spilled from his eye, rolled down his cheek and dripped to his shirt.

It was then that a loud speaker, and Silas now knew what a loud speaker was, shouted out its call.

"This is your captain speaking." A deep voice bellowed through the air, as if from nowhere. "We are due to launch in two hours. Our hyper drive engines are coming online now. Be prepared for a little rattle as they power up. Thank you, and be at peace."

The body he inhabited, the mind he was touching in the most intimate of ways seemed moved with another great longing, a respect or reverence, for the man over the loud speaker. He began to fantasize about how grand life would be if he were one day to become a star pilot, if he were to one day become captain. As he forgot about the lone tear that had fallen from his eye he caught sight of a uniformed woman walking to a turbo lift with a clipboard in her hand. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest from the excitement that he felt. He suddenly wondered what he would look like if he wore a uniform such as that. People would love him; there could be no mistake about that. He would wear it with honor, someday, though not today. He was still only a child and as a child he was to be treated.

Then another sight caught his eye. Remembering that they were in launch orbit around his home planet he realized that the brilliant lights climbing into the darkness from the surface must be other starcraft with the same purpose and mission that his had. But these were Silas' realizations now, and he wanted the deep painful longing for firm ground to stop. But there was little that he could do as he looked and felt through another's eyes. Soon uncountable dozens of these other arks of glowing light filled the window and they began to fall into place with one another forming a picket line hundreds of miles long in orbit.

This was just the first wave, many more would follow. Practically everyone he had known had opted to take to the heavens rather than wait out the war below. That was not to say that untold millions, if not billions, did not stay behind for reasons of their own. In her own right his mother must have been right when she insisted that they collect themselves and move on. Human nature was just to wild and unpredictable to gamble on, so leaving was best.

Time ticked by and Silas wondered. Eventually the allotted two hours had passed without incident and once more a static crackle came to life.

"This is your captain speaking. The engines are fully primes and ready to go. We are go for launch. Next stop is the Berjeron Colony. We will be taking off in five…four…three…two…one…"

In the time it took for him to say that the boy watched countless starcraft light up and rise into the night for their new destinations. There was no telling what the future might hold.

With that last emotion imprinted onto his very soul Silas experienced the darkness and blankness that he had felt first when he sat in this chair. To him hours had passed and the memory had come to an end and faded. Once again he was left in a state of nothingness as the virtual interface fired up once again, this time taking him to a place altogether less sophisticated than the one he had just left.

There was an all encompassing blazing bright light and then he felt himself once more in a new body, this one much larger than the one before. He was staring up at the sun, for what purpose he could not gather. He then looked back down to his hands with light spots momentarily burned into his retina. He was a man, tall and strong, lurching forward to pick up an ax. Though he knew he was a captain he still felt it was necessary to make his mark on his ship by helping at least a little to build it. His strong lithe muscles built up inertia as he lifted the ax over his head and struck it down onto the log, chipping away at it and making it fit for his galleon, which would be a thing of true beauty when completed. He had never felt more pride at once in his entire being as he worked to craft his vessel; he doubted that he could have. There was little else more important in the whole wide world.

And just like that Silas switched to another body which spoke a far different language and which, for some reason he intrinsically knew, lived on the other side of the world. It was the same episode all over again. A captain worked beneath his station at that which made him more proud than anything, his ship. Silas felt his body in the light of the cloudy sky applying water proofing and tar to his ship. As he did so he could only remember that this large wooden boat was one of many in the dry-dock, being worked on by esteemed laborers and crews. This was the makings of a fleet. It was a time of peace and prosperity, growth, and he dare thought, harmony. Once his new ship was complete he felt as if nothing could take away from that.

Then the months flashed by. Silas shifted between the two men, both captains, both intent on exploring the world, not conquering it, and spreading reason and enlightenment as they had come to understand it. He had memories of drinking and singing, in both men, and memories and actions of love, compassion, brother hood, until at last the day came for both of the to set out to sea.

They both commanded flag ships and wanted nothing more than to expand their working knowledge of the world. Once again Silas found himself in the first body, now wearing leather boats and a feathered hat, at sea sailing the deep. In the weeks at sea he had made his way across the great ocean, and still sailed it through rain, snow, sleet, and hail. Even fog.

One morning a thick impenetrable fog encapsulated the ship, but he did his best to navigate. He gave orders to hold fast and keep a steady course, as best could be done. The wind picked up and Silas walked the length of the ships wooden deck to the helm and stood there, wind whipping through his cap. Suddenly a nauseating feeling overtook him. His soul could find no rest. Scrambling in a new feral fear he tried to maintain his composure, tried to keep his command in order, but it was too much for him. In the pit of his gut he knew that nothing good could come of this. Silas then felt as the captain's mind changed. He could sense every little spiritual bridge as they popped in an out of existence in his head, connecting him to things he could not see or feel, connecting him to anther ship. Within seconds he had collided his ship with another galleon. And all at open sea! What A tragedy and a mystery, he thought, as timbers shattered. Silas could feel the stink of fear but also came to realize that the ship he had hit belonged to none other than the other soul whom he had lived through.

In time both ships sank to the bottom of the ocean and not a single man lived to tell of it.

And then it suddenly ended. He was back to the blank faceless darkness that he had seen at the start. A rush of blood came to his head and he felt his brain tingling as he heard a succinct whirring noise. His mind suddenly went back to the meteor shower, the odd feelings he had begun to have and the dreams. The strange rock that he and his friends had discovered in a fort also came to his thoughts. It was as if he was reliving these instances, but they all passed by to quickly in a jumbled blur. As he felt as if he could take no more, as the memories were extrapolated and removed from his head, the visor suddenly raised and he was back at Jasper's home amidst the nebulous stars.

Silas looked from man to man, eyeing the king up with relief. Seeing his prowling features, and the crown set just so on his head he saw only good fortune. Good fortune that he had not been harmed by the machine, or much less altered as Roger showed so much fear in. And Jasper was there, in his robes, no more than a sight for sore eyes.

"That was exhilarating." Silas exclaimed, looking from face to face.

"And can you assure me that your mind has not been transfigured?" the king asked vivaciously.

"Of course he can, can't you Silas?" Jasper acceded.

"I feel happy. No different than before. At the end I must warn you there is a moment of disorientation." Silas said lividly.

"Yes," said Jasper thoughtfully, "that is the particular moment when your own experiences are brought into the virtual interface's memories."

"Well then I suppose it's your turn now, King."

Roger only sighed and mulled over the chair. As Silas got up, the king ungraciously sat down.

"So you understood the purpose in sharing those thoughts and experiences with you, did you not, Silas?" asked Jasper looking directly into his eyes.

Silas only looked back blankly.

"Not entirely."

Jasper rolled his eyes and sniggered. "You are not the brightest. It was to open your mind to the greater possibilities of reality, in the first case. I wanted you to understand that the forces at work here are past supposition, that they are beyond the will and power of any one individual, yet it will take the individual to thwart the negativity. I wanted you to see first hand how far thought can take us should we choose to cooperate."

"I see. Valid points. All of them." Silas said with a dutiful seriousness. "Well, while I am not the brightest I still believe that I understood the second scenario."

"Second scenario?" asked the king, disillusioned. "How many of these things were there?"

"Just two." Jasper and Silas said at the same time.

"How ever it felt like I spent months in there, sailing. How much time actually passed, Jasper?"

"On the order of forty six seconds."

"My word…" said Silas astounded. "You weren't joking with me. That is truly quite remarkable."

"So, just what was your take on the second scenario?" asked Jasper.

"Only that it was an episode of the dark star's malevolence and that you wanted me to see and feel with my mind how it operates. You wanted to show those bridges you spoke of and how they make people malleable." Silas spoke vigorously and as he did so Jasper realized how great an impression he had made on him.

"That is acceptable. You seem to have grasped my intended purpose. But more than that I wanted to see if exposing you to those bridges on that level would give you the experience to control your own, to learn from the memory, or to improve upon yourself."

"How noble of you. So I will go from being a soldier of king Roger to being a soldier of king Jasper?" Silas placated.

"I heard that." said Roger.

"Good that you did." Silas said dispassionately. "I never could stand the notion of dying for another man's fruitless ambitions." The king only grumbled as the visor was flipped down over his eyes.

"You are sincere and perceptive Silas. You are right. I would want you to develop those techniques to combat the dark star, but you would be far from my soldier. More like my cohort. Isn't that much more respectable?" Jasper moved his fingers over the button pad once again and a whirring sound filled the air as the virtual interface dragged the king into it.

"I know that such an ability would ultimately be for the better, but I can't stand the thought of being another man's tool. I fell for that once, but I least I have the excuse that my mind was under dark influence. I will sooner fight for my own life than submit to the soldiering of another person."

Jasper said nothing and looked definitively at the button pad as seconds moved quickly by.

"What are you doing now?" asked Silas.

"I am only monitoring his good health. I suppose you are wondering which memories I have decided to share with him."

"You must have read my mind." said Silas. "So what is it that he is seeing and feeling and whatever else is involved?"

"The same as you of course. I wouldn't want you to have no one to talk to about this. I also would prefer if you two learned that same lesson."

"Once he is done does this mean he will have had some of his memories also stored in the device?"

"Yes indeed. He will have some, but nothing close to all. Only the ones that correspond to the dark star's evil influence, then I will take my turn and the two of you will have shared your knowledge in full with me."

"How does this machine only take some memories, but not others?"

"A simple failsafe code. You forget, it was made by far more intelligent beings than me and they designed it so that only the memories that the user is willing to input are taken. I neglected to tell the king this because I have no greater way to explain it to him, even if he were likely to believe me."

The visor then flipped up and the king was awake again. He rubbed his forehead as though that would bring him some greater understanding but then spun the chair in circles euphorically as he had done when Silas had first discovered the chair with him.

"That wasn't all that bad, now was it?" said Jasper.

"Not at all." said the king, rising to his feet.

Once he was clear of the seat Jasper punched a few of the buttons and sat himself down, pulling the visor over his eyes in one quick motion. The chair did its work and soon Jasper was transported to the world of Silas' and Roger's memories.

"Do you suppose that he is experiencing what recollections we allowed to escape ourselves?" Silas asked politely, trying to make passive conversation.

"Well it's either that or he's taking it for a ride for its own sake. It was a lot more fun than I could have anticipated. And meaningful. I feel as though I truly understand my old pal the jester's perspective. But if it's all the same I don't see why I would directly help him."

"You don't see why you would directly help him? Are you a mad man, or merely a monster? Do some justice to all the brave soldiers who died in your army, take the fight to the hearth of the evil which slew them." Silas exclaimed.

"I did not say that I would not do that, for that is also a part of my agenda. But in the first place I have a kingdom to reclaim, and if what he says about the Praetor of my lands is true I will have a battle far more difficult then I could want for."

"How will you deal with him?" asked Silas, feigning interest but still hoping that he would be given the opportunity to fight with the king against their hidden new foe.

"Do you mean will I kill him in the dark, wreathed in shadow? Or will I take the high road and challenge him to a duel? Perhaps I should get my ceremonial armor and behead him publicly, or motion to have him captured and tortured for information. I think none of those would be my plan of action. I would prefer to collect some evidence of my own, I think his years of seemingly loyal service merit him that. Then, depending on how much support he has I will stage a coup, though I am loathe to spill blood."

"That comes as a large shock." said Silas. "All that from the man who hurdled tens of thousands to their doom, one way, or another. I'm glad to see you are capable of sympathy."

"That is likely because my mind is now freed."

"I was just about to insinuate that."

"Would you help me with this coup, should the thought come, Silas?"

Silas only gauged disparately at the jester, letting a few moments pass.

"It would mean everything to me, seeing as you are likely now my only friend. It was still you, no matter what Jasper's role was, who saved my life."

"It will be something for me to consider, but you know, I am not all that interested in flying headlong into conflict."

"Will you anyway?"

"How is this; I will tell when the time comes."

There was a swift lapse in conversation as the king stood there, his jaw hanging open in acute desire. They looked at Jasper who was so calm and placid in his seat and Silas suddenly wondered if the man could hear anything from the outside world while in the virtual interface. What if someone screamed?

The visor flipped up and Jasper came from his trance, pleased with his having gained Silas' and Roger's trust enough to share something as personal as memories. Slowly collecting himself he stood and walked over to the control panel.

"That should do it for now." He said, shutting the system down.

"So, what news from the other side?" Roger asked to lighten everyone's mood.

"Things are worse than I had feared. This may be shaping up to what the dark star believes is it's final battle, and for us it may well have to be that."

"Any word on my visions?" asked Roger.

"Vision, you mean? Yes, but only that you will likely face a creature such as the one you were shown. It was created by your imagination, I suspect, and the dark star will use its foul grace to likely engineer one should you try to cross paths with it."

"Did you just say grace?" asked Silas, intimidated and incredulous.

"It was only a figure of speech." Jasper said hastily.

"Never mind that nonsense." said Roger. "What have you found about Silas' predicament?"

"Only that it seems the dark star has in a way chosen you, probably for experimentation to see how to deal with the rest of this world's inhabitants. Beyond that I cannot be to certain, but it appears as though it is working toward affecting his mind in ways that would be unnatural. Perhaps it may fuse with you, Silas, but when guessing at things in the dark there is surely no way to know the truth. And that is all for now. Please, come with me."

"Where?" the king asked.

"Your time here has come to an end. As much as your company was enjoyed you must take your leave of this place."

"Will we ever come back?" asked Silas.

"That is unlikely, but your life path may become more like mine, in which case you also could enjoy the luxury of the ancient's technologies."

Silas and Roger did little to protest but instead walked behind Jasper to the door. It opened, they left, and then it closed. The dazzling beauty of the jester's house would never be forgotten to Silas, and he prayed that his and Jasper's path would cross again. In a flash of light the three of them disappeared from the terrace and began the process of rematerializing elsewhere.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was a cool black night in Verlan and every cloud in the sky breezed across it with near breakneck speed. Silas, Roger, and Jasper had been transported to a large decorative hedge whose green leaves were barely identifiable as such with the lack of light. Sight and sound returned to the three of them and Roger swatted a branch out of his face, stumbling blindly about until he pressed his way through the hedge and into the street. Silas kept his bearings better but after Jasper followed the king, whose crown had nearly been knocked off, into the street Silas was left with little option but to join them.

The avenue was cobbled and seemed to be a lower class working district with shops, taverns, and inns. Silas could see in the faint lantern light the sign of a cooper hanging over a door way. Before the king could go any further Jasper had unexpectedly snatched the crown clean off of his head, exposing his bare head to Silas for the first time. The king, more shocked than anything made a grab for it to take it back but Jasper was to smooth in his evasions.

"What did you do that for?" asked Roger rather wildly and loudly.

"Shhh…Shhh… You must whisper." Jasper said quietly. " I neglected to tell you that the place you have just come from is outside the normal flow of space and time. In short, while a day or two may have passed for you nearly two weeks have transpired in your kingdom."

"And what of that? Why should that matter?" asked Roger once again with volume.

"It matters because everyone believes you to be dead, and you must keep it that way. You are lucky that so few people know your face to begin with. However, if word came to Henry's ears that you had survived, after I had proved otherwise to him, it would be disaster for the both of them."

Seeing that Roger had calmed down Jasper handed the crown back to him, its cool metal settling into his palm. He was pleased with himself to have it back but for the first time felt a shame at not being allowed to wear it.

"What of the dark star, is it aware of our presence here yet?" asked Silas.

"No, for now your minds are free of it and you should use that time to plan out whatever conflict you think you will face in your own minds. There is one thing we can be certain of, and that is that it will strike again."

"If we stay hidden, it will not find us?" Roger asked Jasper.

"Right on, but now I must leave you." said Jasper with a flourish.

Before anyone had the opportunity to say otherwise, or even offer up a word of protest or thanks Jasper had disappeared in a bright flash off to wherever it suited him. Standing in the middle of the street in their battle gear Silas and Roger stared at each other and after long Roger finally softened and cracked.

"What should we do?" he asked, begging for advice.

"I think it best if we follow your old adage, create a mentality. We can't stay in this street forever so we can either hide back in the bush until we develop a plan or we can hang around a tavern." Silas said mutedly, hoping the king would have a better idea.

"To the tavern then."

Silas looked up at the sky nostalgically.

"The stars look so different here than where we used to be. There is no color, only the bright white. I wish we had asked more about that. Whatever happened to asking the hard questions? "

"Well," said Roger, "I wish I knew. I suppose we must have overlooked it in the excitement. We still got ourselves a lifetime of answers though."

They began the slow hike to a nearby tavern entrance where they could hear the ruckus and fanfare on the inside slowly mounting with every step closer to it they took. They came close enough to the widow to see cheery faces and dancing people at the height of their zest.

"What should our story be if anyone asks about our battle garb?" asked Silas, seeing more and more inconsistencies in their plan as seconds rolled by.

"Tell them… that we are bounty hunters fresh off the chase looking for a group of highwaymen." said Roger, buying into his own clever suggestions.

"Good thinking, King."

"And don't forget, do not call me king, or majesty, or anything else. Just Roger. That may as well go for when we are in private also." then Roger said with a sob."I have been deposed."

"So we should just play things calmly and collect information?"

The king raised his brow and then smiled.

"Does this mean you've decided to help reinstall me?"

Silas thought for a moment about his life, where he had come from, and Mary, except this time without the same manic longing the dark star had him believe was true.

"I suppose it does. Roger, you realize that I have very little left to live for, even though I enjoy living for it. I say we fight the powers that bind us. If that means helping you I will do so."

They had reached the heavy wooden door of the tavern, and just as Roger was about to open it, his arm near fully extended to its handle, it popped open and out staggered a man as drunk as an oaf. The light spilled out through the open door and Silas and Roger, the congenial pair, slipped inside just as the man who had opened the door stumbled a few steps then vomited.

"Remember," Silas said lastly, "let's try to keep a clean mind tonight so that the nefarious forces aligned against us do not find us, mind or body."

"Agreed, Silas."

"You see that?" said a man with the joy of a man near drunk as he slapped his arm around the shoulder of Roger and pointed with his free hand to the man who had stumbled outside. "I own this tavern and as soon as he told me he was feeling sick I knew his time was up! I threw him out into the street. Yep, he left without a struggle and it just goes to show you that some people don't known when to quit! What can I do for you? Will you be taking anything to drink?"

"No, no, nothing like that. We, my friend and I, have been out of town for a while, we're bounty hunters, you see, and we wanted to share in the festivities and catch up on the latest news." said Roger, with a certain air of practiced buoyancy.

"Well come with me!" said the barkeeper, gesturing to an empty pair of seats at a wooden table. His leather apron flapped as he pushed his way through the milling mass of people in his building. Silas and Roger sat at the table across from a grizzly looking man and a hand full of people conversing with him. The grizzly man turned to them and showed a smile of yellow teeth with a few missing.

"And who are you?" the grizzly man asked, showing spirit.

Silas did his best to appear enthusiastic. "I am Silas and this is my partner Roger. What's new these days?"

"Have you been living under a rock for the past month?" asked the man, dubious.

"We haven't exactly been around for the last couple of weeks." said Roger. "We just want to catch up with current events. The king does still reign around these parts doesn't he?"

Roger made his statement seem like a joke but on the inside he was dying to know the truth.

"You all are in for some type of surprise. He was killed in battle and our forces were routed. You had heard that there was a war going on, hadn't you?" the man with missing teeth asked. By this time his friends whom he had been speeking with earlier turned to look at the pair that were so ignorant to the world, and so oddly dressed. They stared in good humor, some with jaws hanging open in mock wondernment.

"So what has become of the kingdom of Engar these days, what with the king missing…err…dead?" said Roger, waiting as patiently as he could for the man across the table from him to process what was being said.

"Well," said the grizzly man scratching his head, "as I understand things the king left behind no heir, not that he did anything for the people anyway. Good riddance to him I say."

"So who rules now?" said Silas coercively, trying to glean as much information as he could get away with.

"From what the rumors and public announcements are it looks like the Praetor of Engar would rule, but strangely enough he only used his power for one act before declining the royal throne. _The royal throne_, can you imagine it?" said the grizzly man emphatically. "He must have been insane. He would have had the life of luxury."

"Well," said Roger, "the Praetor never was one to care much for lux-" then Roger seemed to catch himself, realizing that he should better watch his tongue. "… I mean…what was his one action, his decree?"

"Well he is still delivering a lot of public announcements at Verlan's center square every afternoon two hours or so before dusk, if you care to listen. But from what I know he has declared this no longer a kingdom, if you can believe it, but now it is a democracy."

"And just what does that imply?" asked Silas.

"We now have to pitch a vote for all of our leaders, including the new office of the Sovereign. Now, ironically, the old scallywag of a Praetor has put his name in the ballot for Sovereign, against some of the remaining nobles, to prove that he can lead and rule fairly."

"I rather like the sound of all this." said Silas respectively. Roger only shot him a frown.

"What do you think the idea of all that would be?" asked Roger pointedly.

"It is obvious." said the grizzly man. "The Praetor wants what is best for the people to be what the leaders of this world have to pursue. I think he's a little crazy in the head but I love the notion."

Silas turned to Roger to assuage and clapped him appreciatively on the back.

"Come now, Roger, there is no shame in great change. Perhaps it is time for the people to let go of their lost king. Nothing can bring him back now, and nothing can replace him. And since nothing can replace him it is only right that we not try to disgrace his image by offering up some false new idol of a man or leader to stuff the void."

"I didn't misunderstand you, and I don't believe there is shame in change." Roger said firmly, speaking more to Silas' furtive insinuations than the others at the table. "On the other hand I don't feel the truth to what the people are truly capable of manifesting itself at this time in history. There are much larger things afoot than whatever peasant mentality would guide the people's new resolve."

"What do you mean there are much larger things afoot?" the man across the table smiled his toothless grin. "I have not seen this much emotion around Engar since I don't know when. For the most part people think they are finally free."

"Finally free of what?" Roger asked.

The man across the table turned his head to one of his friends and laughed furtively, as though they were the only ones in on the joke. "Well," he said, "there are a lot of new words floating around since the Praetor has been speaking to the people, working to free their minds. One of them is despotism. While the Praetor had many good things to say to honor the fallen king's memory he made no secret of the fact that in private circles, and public ones when he wasn't obsessed with his image, the jolly old king was no stranger to total control. I heard tell it was either his way or death when you had a difference of opinion."

Roger looked at their faces, expecting a change of heart that never came.

"Surely he couldn't have been all that bad. What you heard was probably just exaggeration, one of you must at least take to your king's defense?"

"King? He wasn't no king, least not to me anyways. He may have had the power, but I have no respect for those queers."

Silas chuckled openly and the others joined in, with the exception of Roger.

"What do you mean by no respect for those queers, good man." Roger's brow had furrowed and he had a growing disgrace for his old advisor by the second.

It was another man's turn to speak, the man who sat adjacent to Silas' and Roger's grizzled friend.

"What he means is exactly what the Praetor said, and heaven knows that no one knew the king bedder than that there man, right matey? The Praetor, in his first speech, decided to be level with everyone about the king's true nature, whether they liked it or not he told the good and the bad. Apparently it came to light that his majesty never had an heir because of his love for the menfolk. "

"That is ludicrous!" Roger slammed his fists down onto the wooden table and everyone at the bar stopped talking for a moment to turn and look at him. Roger then caught himself and calmed his nerves. "This truly is a test of my patience." he whispered to Silas, before looking back to the rest of the crew, embarrassed.

"No need to get so angry!" said the grizzled man, vexed. "From the way you got emotional you'd think you knew him!"

"Hahahaha! Yeah right, boy-o! That would be the day!" said his friend heartily.

Roger was deeply wounded while Silas did his best to keep from laughing and kept all the nonsense underfoot.

"My friends," said Roger embracingly, "you claim to be independent thinkers, men of freewill and free thought, or at least your faith in democracy betrays you as such. The lot of you cannot seriously believe that the great king that once ruled this land preferred the love of men to women, can you? I mean, far be it from me to judge, but I am just asking the question or putting the notion out there at the very least."

"You mean the notion that the king was a man just as any of us? What account do we have to go on to that end? From all appearances he did not consider himself to even be the same species as the rest of us, living in his merry palace so aloof and above the struggles of the common man. To me he was nothing but a-"

"-What if he was under the influence of forces beyond his control? Suppose that his emotions were twisted following the ascent to power that must have scared him witless? Suppose, I ask you, that the Praetor has fabricated this story to ensure that if the king had somehow survived his image would be so tarnished that he would never be able to return to power but would instead have to live out his miserable days in shame or worse yet, exile?"

"You speak in what ifs, and it perplexes me. What if the king were not here? What if that great man, the Praetor, who let power fall him his grasp and into the lap of the free peoples of Engar, was the only man who could have truly known the kings heart? Not that it matters anyway, with the king dead this is all speculative senselessness for the sake of being speculatively senseless."

"Well at least we can agree on that."

"At what point did we honestly disagree? As I see it I was merely doing my duty to keep you up to date on current events as they present themselves as the facts. It was you who were moved to anger. Perhaps you enjoyed the notion that one pitiless selfish man ruled over the uncountable masses of this great country, and thought only of himself in the process, but I and many others did not. Even if the Praetor is lying he is certainly due a sense of humor and a laugh or two having managed to subvert the greed tempered king and save us our personal freedoms. I'm sure you haven't heard that one."

Roger raised both his eyebrows and sighed the longest most defeated sigh he had ever breathed. "By all means, partner, do tell."

"I was only playing with you, with that last part."

"Ha!" laughed Roger. "Good then that you are honest."

"Honesty always has been the virtue of the fearless, of those with nothing to hide."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Be honest with me, who are you really?"

"All right then, have it your way. I was once the king's bodyguard, before I got into my current line of work." Roger lied. "I gained his trust after working as his servant and he allowed me to work around his grace. He is far from what the Praetor has portrayed him as."

"Really? And just what detail have we got wrong?"

"For one he slept with at least three women per night and was far more selfless than any man I have met, and I should know, I was there."

Silas, fearing that their cover would be blown or that the dark star would in some way be alerted to their presence, pinched Roger's thigh as hard as he could beneath the table in an effort to remind him of their plight. Roger only swatted his hand away indifferently and smiled austerely down at their new friends. Oblivious to what was going on out of sight the grizzled man continued.

"Well, the night is still young, and I believe you. Tell us all what he was really like then, to sate our curiosity."

"He did his best to please the people around him. He even turned a blind eye to the Praetor's many all male affairs. Valuing his council above all others he didn't condone what his friend did in private, but he certainly never made a huge issue of it."

Everyone who heard that burst out laughing, slapping thighs and drinking ale to lighten the mood.

"Is that so?" said the grizzled man between bursts of laughter. "When I worked for the king he always spoke in cryptic tongues and had a fear of puppies! Mr. Mumbles I used to call him!"

Silas saw his golden opportunity. "And when I worked for him he never used to let me forget that nothing is more important than the law of discretion, that is to say never let those who don't need to know hear tell of your queer exploits."

As more laughter drummed from everyone's gut Roger turned somberly to Silas and whispered. "Point taken." he said softly.

"I think we've heard enough for one night." Roger said loudly, hoping that everyone would follow suit.

"Enough? We are just getting started!"

"No we aren't," said Silas sympathetically. "My friend here is right. All that nonsense is bound to be lies one way or another. I don't want to have anymore of that slop shoveled down my clean ears. We should all at least take heed of the warning that the man's life was. You can never be so powerful that you are safe from tragedy, or even death. It was an example for us all to be careful what you wish for. He wanted war and he got more than he bargained for."

"Aye aye. Let's drink to that." The grizzled man guzzled ale, his eyes slowly swiveling in their sockets making sure that his friends were of like mind. He was getting more and more drunk by the second, but did not seem to mind. While they drank and laughed among themselves Silas was finally happy that he and Roger had a moment to themselves to discuss their state of affairs.

"Never do that again." whispered Silas crossly, entirely unsure of how to discipline someone who had once considered himself second only to god.

"I had to defend my image; you must be able to understand that." Roger complained, whispering back.

"But you understand the point that I am making."

"What is that?"

"That you know far better than to risk giving us away, or have you forgotten the stakes of the game at which we now play?"

"I suppose you are right."

"You know I am right. This is like nothing you have ever seen before, not at all like being king. Then you played for loot and land. You sold men's lives for a sense of power and at worst all you could lose was some of that very same loot or land that you had sought after. But know I am certain you can see that at the very least your, and my, personal sanity is at risk. This dark menace, this dark star will have the both of us on a spit if you do not keep a clear head and an open mind. I am glad all this has happened to you! Maybe now you will learn to accept the things that you cannot change and to work with nobility and valiance to change the things that truly matter."

"I understand. I will not fail you. It will not happen again. My mind's safety is worth more than public image."

"Let's try to pick up some useful information now, like where to find trade specialists."

Roger had a sudden and satisfying idea.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Roger tugged Silas' sleeve and led him to a corner, distanced from all the commotion. Silas reluctantly followed but could see that Roger was intent on not getting trapped in another conversation with the fine folks of the table they had been sitting at, at least for the time being. The corner was shadowy and obscure with the only sources of light in the entire tavern being candles that were melting down slowly but surely, wicks disintegrating under the heavy strain of heat.

"What is it?" asked Silas lightly, unsure of what to expect. At first he thought the king might still be sore about what had been said but realized that he was actually more mature than that now that his mind had been released from whatever shackles had bound it.

"Your idea to see a trade specialist, it got me to thinking."

"About what? I only said that because they are the wisest and most useful people in the country. They will be able to offer the greatest assistance to us if we are to do anything. Moreover, I think that we are in this conflict for the long haul and should learn a new skill or craft. That would be in our best interests. So what were you thinking?"

"Only that we sell this horrid crown to a blacksmith, or something of that nature. I never liked it anyway."

"That's it? You drug me all the way over here for that?"

"Well no, not exactly. I have never been more insulted in my life and I have revenge in my heart. I really wanted to see a blacksmith to learn the art of sword making so that I can forge a weapon and slay this new enemy of mine. I swear to you that our cover will not at all be cast asunder."

"So the truth comes out at last. Killer. Alright, have it your way. The blacksmith is as good a place as any to start, but you realize that we will need a place to stay, and for that we will need income."

"Do not fret, I have a great many ideas in mind. I know that we truly have no one to turn to, which probably hurts you more than I could ever understand, but I think there is someone who might be able to lodge us if we are willing to be honest. As for money, we can work and if that does not avail us I believe that I have on several occasions hidden sums of gold about the palace ground."

Silas' eyes widened at the prospect.

"Gold? Everybody wants gold, how do you know it was not found?"

"Believe it or not I was not as trusting as you might have thought. I always felt the shadow of doubt and fear that I might one day be ungraciously removed from power, though I never once imagined it would be at the hands of my own slanderous Praetor. I wish I had known his nature long before this day. I would have dealt with him in ways you can't even imagine."

"That only proves what those men had to say about you."

"How do you figure?"

"In that you answer to no one. Even I know that it is diplomatically impious to suggest torture, which is what it sounds like you are talking about. Only the lowest of the low would even consider doing something like that, but I know you are better than that."

"The thought of that never crossed my mind. Between the two of us I was merely expressing my anger, but now the moment has passed. I shall never speak of it again."

"Good then for the both of us."

"If I had known that you would always be so serious I might have chosen another man to save my life."

"Haha, very funny. Now who is this person that you say might shelter us?"

"I met him, once, but that seems a long time ago. He gave me a message I can't forget. It was from my father. You may not have known it, and if you did you are a much wiser man than I am, but my feelings about my father were in large part how the dark star kept its hold over my sanity, over my choices."

"How so?"

"I always felt it in my heart that I should live as he had lived, war as he had warred. Kill as he had killed. In my mind I always saw how he might judge me, might think of me and though I curse myself now I endeavored for nothing more than to prove myself to his memory, to make him proud. I know what you must be thinking, I am a little man, but that new bitterness will always be apart of me."

"I did not think you little, I see now that your faults are our shared humanity, nothing more. I argue in your defense. If I had been king would I have been any different from you? And had you been me, would your love have died from your pitiful ignorance? The universe is never without its sense of irony. By nature we are flawed by desire; you wanted something, you moved to make that desire real. It was a dangerous path that you walked as desire can lead one far from light but it seems proven that you have found your way back. I admit, I once abhorred what you represented, what you were, but understand I was young. I have been broken and reborn, as you have been. Maybe you were wrong in your ways but today you are right."

"I see your truth. The environment determines the man, but the soul is his defining moment. There may be hope yet for the both of us, redemption, even."

Silas sighed and Roger could see that he was deeply moved, but troubled.

"Speak for yourself, Roger, there is nothing I can do to bring Mary back. I have not even had the chance to properly morn her. Some lover I have been."

"Speak for myself? My fear led me greed. I grabbed at things beyond my control and ownership to fulfill what I, in my demented state, perceived to be my destiny, my glory. But can anything I did bring back the one hundred thousand men who died for my arrogance and vanity? I always thought myself strong and prudent, until I met you. I am not without my guilt. And besides, I sense that you are taking all this too seriously, especially the death of Mary."

Silas was moved to anger. He fumed but spoke silently, directly into Roger's face.

"How can you say that? You say you have changed but for you to imply that I am taking my love's death with to much gravity shows just what you are inside."

"That was not what I meant and you know it."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Only that attachment can become jealousy, which in turn is just a still beating form of greed and your seriousness at the heart of this. Think expansively. Perhaps that is a skill I have developed over the years, or perhaps it is simply that I saw something you did not. "

"However do you mean?"

"I will tell you, but you must promise to clear your heart of your woes."

Silas was taken aback. He stroked his chin pensively and knew better than to cling to emotions, no matter what they seemed to be. He sensed the truth to all that his friend had said and nodded his head in silent agreement, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you." said Roger.

"Fine. We'll have it your way, I agree."

"Here it is then. Let us suppose that all the jester has told us is indomitably true, in a way as we have already done. If the dark star is so powerful, and its power stems from the fact that it is a Genesis star, then perhaps there is a hope left for Mary. Perhaps we can bring her back. Perhaps we can give her life, do her justice."

As Silas' eyes widened Roger placed both his hands on Silas' shoulders and shook him gently, as if to wake him. Silas slowly began to smile.

"I get it now. Hope, always and ever I should carry hope to warm my heart and prepare my spirit for any possibility. I will take what you have said with seriousness and I will believe. That is the best I can offer."

"That is why you will succeed."

"I can see it now," Silas joked, "Mary and I together once again. Our friendship stronger than ever, living by the lake and taking life one happy step at a time."

"Why stop there? If I should ever become king again I would not forget you. You could live in opulence, eternal wealth at my bosom and we should remain friends forever. I always did want to meet that Mary of yours, from the moment I learned of her."

"Perhaps you should find a Mary of your own. Or perhaps you should just forget about being king. Not that I like to sound negative, or that I even enjoy speaking out against your dreams, but I think regality is little more than a charade. While I can't agree with the Praetor's methods, motives, or slanders, I can agree that the people should govern themselves. That could be your redemption. Make it impossible for fifty thousand troops to ever again march off to war quite for no reason, to do deathly battle against fifty thousand others, fifty thousand people who defended only liberty."

"Why must you think in such terms? Now that my mind is free you know that I would do no harm."

"Is it? Is your mind free? Is it truly? I do not see it now if it is. Freedom of mind is more than contentedness and the ability to properly rationalize. You must embrace your nature. How would you see things if you were one of your many serfs, peons, commoners, laborers or workers? Would you live for the regime of another man's guilty pleasures? Would you bend knee and serve an autocratic machine? There is more to the individual. There are indivisible truths at work here, whether or not you choose to see them."

"I am not blind in both eyes as I paint my picture. The way things are is the way they ought to be. How would I impede personal development and intent? There will be no injustice, in fact I will work to eliminate that, to end corruption."

"The very act of being king is an injustice."

"Against who?"

"The people! I will never again live as a second class citizen, that is what the Praetor shares. With a king he is nothing less than the first citizen of the empire, of the kingdom, of what have you. Whether or not he is just becomes nothing less than a matter of perspective when his life is legally more valuable, more intrinsic than your own or any other. To free your mind you must surrender to open-mindedness and to spreading that freedom you have achieved in all ways, both subtle and obvious. Only then can you grow and learn in what you are to become what you really are. As king you are accepting your negativity and redistributing it. Freedom is a gift, share it."

"I am free. I am free enough to keep my mind set on one course of action. What you say makes its own sense, but my leadership will make us powerful, not just me."

"Part of leadership is knowing when to let go. You are aware that of the innumerable peoples of this kingdom surely at least one must possess an opinion of merit or greater worth than your own."

"I understand all that you have said, know that. But I remain firm in my resolve."

"I will work to support democracy though I might help you restore order from whatever chaos awaits us. Try not to forget that."

"I won't."

"Time is running us by."

"We should return to the table and get the information we initially sought from them, if we can. You know, about the blacksmith and craftsmen and all that. You would think I would know my own city better than that but I never had to look all that hard or far to find the help or services I needed."

Silas and Roger made their way back to the table, Roger looking particularly sallow and feeling dejected. He did his best to hide it. Sitting tall Silas put on as best a show of friendship and interest that he could muster, keeping his hands on the table top, rapping it playfully with his knuckles.

"So boys," said Roger to the jovial men, "Just one more thing."

"What's that, mate?"

"We were interested in finding some craftsmen, blacksmiths, people of that nature, do you know where we mind find them?"

The man across the table from him put on a display of thinking hard which Silas nearly mistook for sarcasm before coming to see that the man was actually deep in his remonstrations. When he finally had an idea he tapped the table hard with his index finger, garnering their attention.

"Aha! I know just the thing. While I am not that familiar with the craftsmen of this city I would have normally told you to visit the Vauder Gardens section of the city, where most of the shops are located. But you're in luck, I just remembered that there is going to be a bazaar in a few days, some sort of labor fair. The idea, I think, behind that is to create a job market where the skilled craftsmen can take on new apprentices and workers, or even spread a general idea of what they are up to with all that free time they seem to have so much of."

"That is perfect! That is just what we are looking for," said Silas, "but can you tell us the exact place and time?"

"Why, it's to be held two days from now, practically from dawn to dusk just outside the on the main road into Verlan. They are certain to have booths and tents set up and showcases. Now that you have reminded me I think it would be something else if I went myself. Maybe I'll see you there. Are you looking for something in specific? Some item? To learn a trade?"

"Something like that." said Roger. "We are interested in making new friends, allies in a sense, but learning from them certainly couldn't hurt."

"You did say a blacksmith, didn't you? I could see you doing that. It would be a sight to see, let me tell you. Or maybe you'd make a nice weaver. If I do go it'll be to meet the womenfolk."

"Haha! You said it!" laughed Silas, attempting to feel the hope he and Roger spoke of.

"Do the womenfolk really show up for things like that?" The men across the table only looked at him without saying anything, as if to let him think about what he just said. "I mean I wouldn't know is all." continued Roger.

Finally, through his gapped and yellowed teeth the grizzled man spoke.

"Of course they do! These types of public events attract all types. I'm sure the womenfolk will be there. Not that you'll be done any good by that."

"And just what are you saying?" asked Roger, feigning indignation.

"With a face as ugly as yours it's a wonder you haven't been tossed in a prison pit, or held in some far off royal dungeon."

"You certainly are a brave one. I'd be delighted to buy you a mask myself."

They all laughed as the night wore on. Silas and Roger, having no real place to stay and fearful of sleeping, not knowing what the world of the unawake might provide, dedicated themselves to their own amusement and that of their new buddies. The taverns halls gradually thinned and cleared out as new shifts of barkeeps came in, but the lights stayed lit and the door stayed unbarred. Silas more than once became fearful that he and his friend would be thrown out on their rears but that time never came.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dawn came in surprise. Silas and the king had always been sound sleepers and so they had never truly been fully awake to appreciate the glow of early morn except for a few rare occasions, none of which they had been that awake for anyway. The room brightened through the glass windows, but did so slowly, its luminosity bearing first as little more than a hint of what was to come. Silas and Roger, realizing that morning was here to stay, stepped outside for a moment of fresh air. It was cool and the grass that was visible had collected drops of dew throughout the night that glistened in the faded light. The sky was peach and Silas marveled at it in respective silence. There were far more important things on his mind. He told himself to focus and persevere, this day too, like any other, would come to pass, and it was his prerogative to see to it that it happened without incident.

Roger was becoming anxious.

"I never was one for telling time, but by the look of the sun I suspect that the shop we must visit will be open soon, if not now."

"Are you saying that you want to swing by and take a closer look, or are you just blathering?"

Silas was becoming annoyed. It was a natural state brought on by lack of sleep and Roger could see the bags underneath of his eyes, but said nothing. It wasn't too much of a struggle to stay awake for Silas, not yet anyway, but in his thoughts it was much better to wait until they were fully safe before dropping guard like a bad habit. Roger was more keen than usual, even though he was sleep deprived. He wanted to say something back to Silas, something equally as mean. He hated having been accused of blathering, or maybe it was his want for sleep talking; there was no way to be sure. Roger luckily caught himself before saying anything he might have regretted and instead thought about what he was to say.

"I say we wait for a quarter hour yet, or at least until the sun is fully visible over the horizon. I am in rue at the thought of waiting in the middle of the street outside of the shop, if it turns out not to be opened. Better safe than sorry."

"Better safe than sorry." said Silas in a mocking mimicry of Roger.

"Cool down, Silas. It is your turn to gain control of yourself. Think. You are very sleepy but that is no excuse to be rude."

Silas stared off at the sky petulantly.

"I want an apology." Roger didn't really care but he felt it necessary to take things as far as they would go to show Silas he would take that type of treatment. Silas only continued to stare petulantly away from him. After a while he spoke low, peeved, as though he had been disturbed, like a child.

"Sorry."

"Sorry who?"

"Sorry Roger."

"That is much better. Why look, I think its time we begin walking on to our destination now, what do you think?"

"Not a bad thought. Which way?"

Roger took the first step letting Silas follow with lighthearted steps in his wake. They continued down the avenue and its stone cobbled ground, thinking only of how their knees and feet were jostled by the paving. There were flower pots hanging in windows that suddenly flew open as women beat rugs from the second floors to make ready for a new day and whatever chores might arise. People sieved into streets as though they were sorted by some invisible hand. Silas passed by a man who was bright and alert wearing worn leather gloves and carrying an iron and hoe with its long wooden shaft. Silas, ever curious, turned his head slightly to watch the man gather with a few others in similar garb. In his tired mind he realized that in all likelihood they were nothing more than farm hands who worked for food and money, living in the city and getting up at the crack of down for a taxing days work in the fields. They certainly earned what they got, Silas thought. He remembered men and women like that in Gossam, but he himself had never been that interested in the art of maintaining a business of that nature. Perhaps, he thought as he ruminated, to subsist if none of this had ever happened he might have pursued some similar career. But no, he thought, he was to strong as an artisan, as a thinker. He would have followed his feelings as he was doing now, he would have taken some risk to rise above.

Roger didn't seem to notice any of the people as they rounded a corner to another expansive street, this one covered in bright lively flowers on the grass islands that were running parallel to the curb. The buildings on this block reared up higher than the last street, reaching three or more stories of thatch and clay and stone and brick. All these things left an impression on Roger; O what man could achieve when he put his mind and muscle to work. There was no limit in Roger's dawning realization as to what wonders might have arisen if enough people said something and meant it. He thought back to his long years as king and supreme administrator of the land and all that he could see and among his regrets was that he did not motivate people to do, to become, as he should have and as was befitting of some one with his station and power.

It was good to be free.

As he daydreamed, one foot moving before the other in a succinct repetition of necessity, the groggy Silas followed begrudgingly behind. He thought up great new ideas of buildings he could almost see physically rearing up above the calm streets of Verlan. Just like that cathedral he had ordered built, only for the people and by the people. There could have been banks and public palaces, instead of private ones. Bathhouses and signs of the time to luxuriate those who had surely earned it, among other things floated around tenuously in his thoughts. His favorite by far would have been an exchange building for arts and ideas to ferment and grow. It would have been a massive hall with giant pillars to support the roof. What an amazing thing that would have been.

A boy, almost and man, bumped into hard and brought him spiraling back to reality. He had been running down the street with a package in his hand, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Neither of them had been paying attention and the boy held up his hand to placate the king whose frown had become all too apparent.

"Sorry sir." said the boy, waiving and not waiting around any longer. Roger didn't even have time to forgive him, if it was even his fault. The thin boy bounded of again weaving in and out of people who were popping out of the woodwork, off to whatever called them on this fine morn.

"What do you suppose he is up to?" asked Roger to Silas.

Silas only chuckled.

"Once upon a time you probably would have cut off his hand for what he just did to you."

"Cut off his hand? I thought we had gone over this, I am not cruel, not over bumping into me at least."

"Is that what you think he did?" Silas shook his head as though something were painfully obvious. "You must learn to pay attention. That boy was a pickpocket. He tried to reach in around your waist for a pocket or hip pouch. He was skilled, too. He probably got something."

"You mean would have got something. Good thing we don't have any money."

"Never thought I would hear you say that."

"I never thought I would hear myself say that. O, what miserable times are these when country men think only of their coffers and stomachs."

Roger was deeply insulted, especially after he had been fantasizing about how much good he could have done for everyone. With people like that running around he was now not at all sure that they deserved it. With people like himself once running around, he thought, they likely would never have deserved it. But all that was behind him, as was the bold fellow who tried to lift whatever gold he must have had. He was peeved, but not moved to the irrational anger he once would have been consumed by Silas noticed, as they walked down the street and the distance between where they stood and the incident had taken place widened.

"You don't t seem that angry. I am surprised"

"Hope, remember. No reason to cling to anger. One more street and we will soon be there, at least I suppose. And any way I was thinking at the time; that is the only reason I did not catch him myself. I would have let him go off easy anyway."

"Oh? And what must you have thinking about that brought about that change of heart?"

Roger smiled internally but said nothing. He wasn't sure whether or not he should share that warm feeling which grew on the inside with Silas just yet. Silas stepped forward and closed the gap between them, poking Roger expectantly.

"Alright, Alright. I was thinking about how hard working and industrious these people truly are and about just what is owed to them, what I feel I owed to them."

"And what is that?"

"If you'd let me finish a sentence you would know by now."

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Any way, if I could do it all again," Roger said happily and smiling at the sky, "I would be the demagogue I was born to be. I'd make public projects, fountains so grand you could bathe in them. I'd have glorious banks that would bring wealth and good fortune, and there would be such a spirit of cooperation about this place that it would be as if we hardly new ourselves nowadays."

"Sounds like fun, but don't get us lost."

Roger ignored him and got back to imagining things. They couldn't get lost, not with him leading the way. Marching ahead Silas caught the odor of cooked meat and his mouth began to water. Roger stopped. He smelled it to and looked about with a passion. Across the street a wheeled cart and a man working it had customer's tossing him coins and taking one apiece with some roasted onions. The aroma was too much for Roger to bear and he gradually drifted across the street in that direction. In no time at all Silas and Roger were standing in front of the man who wore a hat and doled out food as fast as it could be taken. The man was making small talk with everyone there and Silas, full of hunger, sniffed the air heavily.

"Say there, good sir," Roger said to the vendor, "Would you be willing to give my friend and me here a cut if we promise to pay you back within the week? We are starving and have no money for the time being."

No sooner had he said it then two plump smoking cuts were in his hands, one for himself and one for Silas.

"Think nothing of it, they are for your troubles." said the plump vendor. "Business had been good to me so I will be good to others."

"Thank you, thank you." said Roger and Silas. "I will not forget this." said Roger.

The man smiled and tipped his cap to them as they stuffed the food down their gullets and began walking on their way again.

"Spicy, but delicious." said Roger. As they walked and ate their destination bore down on them unremittingly. Sooner then they knew it Roger and Silas were standing in front of a shop window that seemed little more than a far off memory to Roger, and was a new and interesting oddity to Silas.

Just as they finished their food, Roger's stomach filling with digestive fluid which caused him to burp softly, a woman walked by and into the shop proving to the two of them that it was ready for business. They soon followed suit, but Roger had a pang of apprehension that spun his head. The door opened and closed and they were on the inside, the familiar bell over the entrance ringing out its loud peel.

Silas watched as Roger looked at the woman in front of him with a smile that told him all he needed to know. Silas had more than enough experience with infatuation to see that Roger had it bad for her and he nudged him with a forceful hand. Mr. Matane, the owner of the bookshop, looked up from behind his counter and did a dramatic double take, scurrying toward the two of them with a mellow look of disoriented glee.

"And what can I do for his majesty on such a find day as this." Mr. Matane whispered.

But Sonia overheard. She came rushing to him from where she stood and put both her hands on his face as if she could not believe what she touched.

"Your Royal majesty?" she asked, more shocked than in awe. "But they said you had died, that it was proven, that our army was dashed as if a wave upon the shore. Can it be so?"

"I was once king, but please, hesitate to call me that now. I may have enemies everywhere. I have a long and terrible story to tell, and I see on your face that you are confused about a great deal."

"King Roger!" said Mr. Matane.

"Please, of the few things I ask of you one is that you under no circumstances refer to me with any official title or grace, for now that is not who I am."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Mr. Matane, excitedly.

"There is something. My friend and I are without food, shelter and money. We, or at least I, will be hunted down and killed if my old and trusted friend the Praetor has his way. I only wanted to know if you could provide for us, until the time comes. I came here because I have no one to trust but you, which is a sad thing."

"Until what time comes?"

"The time to do justice for the Praetor's attempt on my life. Believe me when I say a great many things have transpired which you would not think possible."

"I would do anything for you, Roger, if I could. But I cannot. There is no place I have to hide you and- "

"I could provide for the two of you." Sonia's pretty face gleamed with a brightness as she talked, wanting to do what she could. Roger felt another nudge from Silas but pretended he had felt nothing. Roger showed some of his old light as his eyes widened.

"I…errr… We'd…We'd…" Roger stammered.

"What Roger here means to say," Silas said suavely, "is that we would be honored to take whatever help you can offer and we'd be more pleased than anything to feel the goodness of your presence."

"How soon would you need me to hide you?" she said.

"It's not as simple as all that, a theme I have come to grips with lately." said Roger.

"Then in your own words, how complicated is it?"

"I'm not sure that I could tell you, or that I would want to."

"Hmm. That is just as well."

"What Roger means is that we are in as much danger as we put ourselves in, but if it is alright with you we would not mind taking your offer here and now."

The bookshop was cluttered and rays of light sifted down to the floorboards through dust and piles of various compilations. Looking around and sighing Sonia thought about the situation. The overthrown king and someone he knew, or at the worst two strange men, claimed to be in dire need of her aid. It didn't sound right to her but Mr. Matane trusted them, and she trusted Mr. Matane. There was no getting around that fact.

The three of them, Mr. Matane, Roger, and Silas, stared patiently at her, waiting for some sort of final verdict.

"Right this way then, you two." Sonia said, gesturing toward the door.

"Will the two of you be needing any type of cover?" asked Mr. Dolby, stalking off to his back room. They heard the sounds of furious rummaging before the older man emerged a moment later with two hooded cloaks, both gleaming white.

"What an odd color." Silas commented astutely.

"I used to do theater." said Mr. Matane, and everyone else left it at that.

Roger eyed the cloaks with a degree of suspicion, trying to figure whether or not they would attract more attention than they would deflect, or whether they even needed to deflect attention at all. No one really knew them, but if there were any guards wandering around they might recognize the former king.

"Sure we'll take them." said Roger embracing thin air for effect. Mr. Matane tossed them to him and he threw it over his head and around his body letting the other one drop to the ground. Silas bent to pick it up and did the same, cutting a striking figure.

Sonia laughed but choked it back. Mr. Matane sensing their embarrassment only offered words of encouragement.

"Don't listen to that silly girl, you both look fine."

They did not look fine, not by a long shot. They looked more like a pair of ghosts trapped in human form. The bright white hoods were flipped over their faces, obscuring their features so that anyone who could see them would see only white and shadow instead of an intelligible face. Sonia had enough joking around and opened the door pushing Roger maternally through it. He groaned as pure sunlight fell down around him. This wouldn't arouse suspicion, he thought.

"The day has hardly begun." Sonia said. "If we hurry we will make it before the real crowds and gapers appear."

They all set off at a brisk pace as Mr. Matane stood in his doorway waving goodbye to them. Covering ground as quickly as could be done without sprinting they weaved through the city streets and side roads, which the pretty guide Silas and Roger had found seemed to know better than any of them.

At least a quarter of an hour later they arrived to her cottage door and burst through, happy they had not been stopped or talked to. It was a well made home with sparse furniture. It was not too large and not to small, clearly well loved. There was a stair case to the second floor and as Silas smelled the oven, with apple pies simmering slowly, he was reminded of just how tired he truly was.

"Do you have any beds? We stayed awake through the night with out even a minute of sleep. I regret it now but it seemed as wisdom does when we made that decision." said Silas, as if to renounce his agitated sleepless awareness.

"You two can stay in the attic. You wouldn't really be able to find it if you were looking for it, so you will be safe and hidden there. I will get you a few pillows and later we can work on making straw mats for you."

In no time at all the two of them had made their way up the stairs to a trap door that was barely visible and taken pillows with them. They collapsed in a heap on the stuffy attic floor, which had a low ceiling, and slept like babes, caring little for all the excitement they had endured. Hours later they awoke, Silas first, to wipe the crust from his eyes and then Roger at his beckoning. Sonia came to the trap door and entered the attic just as they rose and stood over them.

"You're going to want to see this." she said placidly.

Grumbling, Roger rubbed his tired eyes and got up as fast as a rabbit, just to show that he was fully awake. Silas lay there, driving his face into the pillow pretending that he hadn't heard anything. Sonia kicked him in the side softly and he rolled onto his back and sat up putting his hands around his knees.

"And what is so important that we have to go now?" asked Roger, already on his feet and trying to look as composed as possible for Sonia.

"Well… For the last week, or however long, the Praetor has been the talk of the town. I thought you might like to see for yourself what he has been saying. It is truly revolutionary stuff, though I wouldn't believe everything he says. He is something of a comedian, though I learned not to take him too often at face value."

Silas and Roger were both thoroughly intrigued by the thought of seeing the man of the hour in his heyday, making whatever scene he was prone to make, and to be at whatever party he was known to throw. They got up and dusted themselves off as if there were no tomorrow, something they shared mixed feelings about anyway.

"While you slept," said Sonia, "I took the gamble of getting you new clothes, unless you like dressing like scoundrels." She tossed in one swift motion a handful of clothes to them, who for all their apparent wakefulness neglected to catch them. Silas clothes bounced off his chest and fell to the floor and Roger, at least a little prepared, juggled them for a time before losing his hold.

"Well this is certainly going to be much less conspicuous." commented Roger, looking down at the clothes and picking through them. They found plain tunics and belts as well as some leather sandals. They would certainly blend in with the working class men of the city, Roger thought remorsefully, not at all looking forward to dressing as though he were not wealthy for the first time in his life.

Silas took his dyed blue tunic in hand just as Roger shamelessly took of the clothes he was wearing in one rip to show off a visible abdomen to Sonia, who breathing changed noticeably. She covered her eyes just as Roger was about to strip down to nothing and put on clean undergarments. Feeling her way blindly down from the attic through the trap door she shut it behind her and hollered back at them.

"Perhaps a little shame would do the two of you some good. Now hurry up, we shouldn't want to be late or miss this!"

Within minutes Silas came down the stairs in his blue tunic and pants while Roger sported old leggings and his own faded red tunic. They were quite a pair and Sonia looked listlessly at Roger for a moment, unsure of what to make of him before leading them out the door and down the road. They tramped along for some time, arriving at their destination in good spirits just as a crowd was forming up in the city center; no one wanted to be the man or women who missed this avant-garde set of speeches that the Praetor was making.

Silas and Roger jockeyed for position as workmen scrambled to erect at stage and podium. As Roger and Silas got further from Sonia, who was almost separated from them by the crowd, Roger grabbed her hand firmly and tugged her on with them. Her smile warmed his soul.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Everyone stood side by side, boxed in by the sheer number of bodies that were present and surging as close to the platform as they could get. It was after most work would have ended, a calculation the Praetor had made in spreading his message, and he arrived in an entourage that wore the clothes of the common man. Silas, Roger, and Sonia it seemed were the only people in the entire world trying to keep their distance from the stage. They couldn't get too close, they reasoned, for fear of face to face recognition. From the way things looked it was clear that the Praetor was a fierce opponent in any arena and Roger did not look forward to entering into his realm yet again.

The topless horse drawn carriage came to a stop as the Praetor, wearing a brown sackcloth robe tied at the waist by a simple hemp rope, freely tossed gold coins from a sack into the gleeful roaring crowd. The carriage driver set his horse whip in its holder attached to his seat and hopped off, rushing with an inhuman flourish to the Praetor's side, pulling the door open and taking him by the wrist, helping him down from where he was roosted. The driver bowed deeply to him and led him to the stage as city dwellers pumped their fists in the air, up and down, up and down, chanting more loudly than Roger had ever heard them.

"HENRY! HENRY! HENRY!" they cried, as he waved his arms to quiet them down.

Sonia still held Roger's hand, which Silas had just noticed. He nudged Roger one last time, which Sonia saw, but she kept her silence.

A booming voice shot out over the concourse as the crowd died down, their arms lowering and random citizens shouting out cheers.

"My citizens," said the Praetor in an inhumanly servile voice, "my people, the peace must be kept. In my previous attempts to secure the rights of your hearts I only hinted at the truth of what I meant to share, I only told you that we should have to change our ways. It seems rumor told a tale that I could not, that we are already a democracy. My schematics for this brave new golden age of mind, body, and spirit must to have leaked to the public, how, I do not know. Perhaps I should keep a tighter ship, a cleaner plate, perhaps I should enforce more stringent security measures.

But I do not desire the fear that may bring, and I am sure that you do not either so I will say what must be said publicly. It is a message I offer on more than one occasion so that any and all who have ears with which to hear will take heed.

The kingdom of Engar is henceforth to be reorganized into the United Democratic State of Engar!"

As he shouted his announcement he paused, raising his arms to the sky and looking out personally from face to face as if to make positive contact with as many of his population as possible. They in turn screamed out at the height of their lungs wildly mashing and celebrating what had been decreed. Silas, Roger, and Sonia felt the hair on the back of their necks rise as goose bumps covered the whole of their bodies. The Praetor's electric message had spread throughout the city, the country, and the world at the speed of gossip, trade, and hearsay. Once again the Praetor sought to calm the crowd, who this time could not be moved from their celebrating. After nearly a minute of this went on the Praetor continued.

"But surely you say to yourselves, 'Dear Praetor, this we already knew. Why then must you reaffirm our glory?' And to that I say, there are still those loyal to feudalism, to antiquity and serfdom. There are still those loyal to the very notion of you, the common man, you, the common woman, as the role of the oppressed. Who are these people? They are the nobles who were once loyal to the king who will not, who cannot, accept the true way. I have offered them every grace and provision, every human opportunity to change their stances, but they refuse. I declare that those remaining nobles be overwhelmed! I declare that those nobles come to justice, in order to keep civility, for what they have done in the past and would have done, if given the chance. I have a list that I made and it will be made a matter of public record. I feel that in order to take the next step we should at least capture as many of these trouble makers, miscreants, and rebels as we can.

"But surely and again you ask yourselves 'Dear Praetor, how can we know that you can be trusted to make such a list, that you have not kept an undue allegiance to the notion of royalty?' To that I offer the proof of my mannerisms, of my way of life, my intentions and my faiths. And I have testimonies. True, I have known the king better than any, and true, I was his most sympathetic, humble, brilliant, and loyal of supporters. What has happened to the trust I once shared to the throne? It died with our lurid king. But look at me now!"

More cheers exploded from the mouths of everyone there, it was a ferocious demonstration of passion and emotion that showed no end in sight. The Praetor took the opportunity to make the most of what was happening and he signaled to his stage assistant who lugged the heavy sack of coins up to the giddy man's feet who had done so much to hold the attentions of Verlan. Ten strong men also walked out onto the stage as the Praetor began tossing more coins into the air, letting them float and then freefall into the hands of the near riotous people. The other people on the stage, the ten men, began tossing flower petals, loaves of bread, and hunks of cheese out into the masses who clawed and forced their way forward to get at the action, not caring for the safety of those that slipped and were nearly trampled. Silas and his company planted their feet in the cobbled street and clung to one another, fighting against the human current to hold their positions. Huffing and breathing heavily they held their ground until the Praetor cleared the stage of others theatrically, spanking at the men, and resumed his speech.

"All my life," the Praetor shouted above the din, "I have struggled for significance, for sufferance, for a life of truth. All those who knew me knew that I was steadfast in my ways, that I came from the most extreme poverty, and yet I chose to give. And so I gave. In my youth my parents died of some foul disease and I was left on the streets with my brothers and sister who had nowhere to turn. I could have become a ruthless, heartless pauper, scrapping over every piece of food, clawing at the eyes, but I chose to take the opposite route. I chose to live with dignity and to follow the path of righteousness. I remember when we were all starving and I found a loaf of bread, and though its body was covered in mold I would have eaten it. All food is good food to the starving stomach. I thought to myself that it was my lucky day but as I went to feast upon it I was reminded of the hollow faces of my siblings and instead gave it to them to share. I refused to even take a crumb. From that day onward I resolved to live with only what was necessary, and that has stayed with me today. I always was of meager means, even as my fortunes changed. I was blessed with great wealth, which I liquidated to those in greater need than myself.

"I never forget those in need. Now I dress in sackcloth and rope, as I have always done, and I would do more but for lack of creative spirit I have been unable to. But what could all this mean? I tell you, this is about what I can offer, about what we will create and share. In this new democracy, as you already know, it will fall to you to elect the supplicants and practitioners of charity that we all know surely exist. You must all look within yourselves to force power on the new office of Sovereign in a manner that will allow him to do all that he can for everyone, instead of all that he can for himself. You must set up the system that will keep power in check, that will allow for a balance of force! While I cannot force you to elect me I ask that you remember come Election Day my true nature. The time for voting will soon be upon us. Choose wisely!

Lastly, I must remind you that a week from today, one day after the first public election of our history, the political powers that be will be hosting a memorial ceremony and funeral for the king, may his soul rest peacefully. It will be at the royal cemetery and all are welcome. Until next time!"

The Praetor's stage presence was nothing short of inspiring. His speech ended and the roiling crowd began the whoops and guffaws for the final time that day. As the Praetor left the stage and reassumed his seat in the carriage the last of the sack of money was being thrown from the stage where he stood to empty it out. The carriage rolled off as the whip cracked across the spine off the horse and the Praetor disappeared from the public eye after long, and the three of them, Sonia, Roger, and Silas were left standing almost dumbfounded by the power of what they had heard.

They made their way back to Sonia's cottage, discreetly maneuvering through the throng that had yet to dissipate until they were free of its awesome gravity. Once at home they were glad to breath the clear air instead of the stuffy recycled breathing of the rally. They all pitched in to help make a satisfying roast pheasant dinner and waited outside for the sun to set. Roger explained to them how things had used to be, how once he trusted no one more than Henry and how he was shocked to here a fable of that nature so riddled with lies. After dusk, Silas, like a tired out child, retired to the attic to rest, leaving Sonia and Roger to their devices.

The pair talked and flattered, bantering through the night. Roger felt a growing love in his heart for the woman who had done so much for him, and for whom he owed so much. He had never felt anything like this in his body before, not for anyone and not for any reason, and he was sure that it was mirrored in his new friend and companion, Sonia.

But the night came to a close and they both broke apart to rest.

The hammer struck hard to the anvil, flattening out the red orange glowing steel blade that Roger held firmly in his left hand. It struck again, and again, this time with anger. The next blow, Roger thought, was for his brutality, and the next for his hatred and the next after that for desire, which had been the sour berry for the whole bunch. Each time he struck the blade, tempering it, he felt the near criminal surge of emotion in his brain, reliving the feelings he had once had and experiencing them for the first time since he had been under the influence of the dark star.

The massive blacksmith stood over his shoulder in the open air forge shop near the outskirts of Verlan breathing down his neck and watching every move with the careful eye of a concerned tutor. Roger had come to him, looking to immediately learn the craft of sword making, and he would not take no for an answer. After receiving a large sum of gold, which Roger had dug up, the blacksmith was satisfied and agreed to take him on at once. Now, under his direction, Roger forced vengeance against his old mentor and poured his will into the metals that had such a short time ago been nothing more than ore and ingots of unformed clay, waiting to be blessed with some purpose.

"Now my student," said the blacksmith's husky voice after the metal's glow had begun to fade, "take it back to the fire and leave it in the burning fuel. Then pump the bellows."

Roger's greasy hand wiped sweat from his brow. It was hotter here than anywhere he had ever been. He glanced obediently at the apron wearing man, whose muscles were as thick as a calf's leg, and did as he was told. After that had been done he got back to work, taking every command he heard to heart.

Working diligently and directly it was not long before the blade needed to be quenched in water, as its shape was fully formed, the last thing he had to do was give it an edge and he had some surprise in store for the Praetor. He fully intended to melt down his golden crown and fuse it to the sword, making it the blades razor sharp golden edge. As for the gems they would be studded to the hilt, glittering as a reminder of his pent up rage.

He envisioned it, as he had for the last few days since taking on this project. It would be art. The Praetor would be delivering one of his rousing speeches, bringing the riled up spectators to a fervor and Roger would strike. There wasn't all that much security, as he had seen at the rallies, and he could just as easily wait all day near where the platform would be erected, wait until no one suspected a thing. He could see himself close in, as near to the base of the stage as possible, before rushing the boisterous orator and running him through like a pig with the edge of his blade and what was once his golden crown. He could see the shock of final recognition as the man he had once called friend's eyes widened, the blade protruding from his gut, his mind expiring with the sight of Roger's vengeful features within inches of his panicked gasping.

He would make it real. But for now he headed back home, thinking only of how his new weapon would be completed in a day or so.

The hours rolled by, Silas, fully aware of what Roger meant to do, ate his meals in silence while thinking through his own fate if it were somehow found out that he were involved. It would likely be gruesome if such a plot failed, but Silas had every confidence in the finality of Roger's resolve.

Sonia grew closer to Roger, talking to him of everything they could think of, answering all each other's questions and providing each other with so much more. Silas did his part to force them together, seeing the opportunity for Roger to have what he once had, to love as he once loved.

Day turned into night and night turned into day. Roger now carried his sword, a work of true master craftsmanship, and it caught glances as people he encountered thought it spectacular, something to be marveled at. Roger, confident he was not under any evil influence, was sure that he was feeling for the first time in his life true rage, not just the inflated pride and arrogance that had driven him to rashness in the past.

It had been a blast, living there with Sonia, but before long one of the many days of reckoning had come to pass at last. It was the Election Day, and in just twenty four hours there would be a ceremony and funeral for himself whereby he intended to capitalize on the knowledge of the Praetor making a public appearance. He wanted to slay the man and make his escape, if it were at all possible. He would have to wait for the perfect moment and then attack without considering the wider consequences of where he would run to, and how he would escape such a large crowd. As he reasoned things it would be best to kill and then run as fast as he could back to Sonia's cottage, hoping and praying to whatever god was out there that the shock of what would happen could keep people off his trail long enough for him to get out of sight.

But today he and Silas had something else in mind; they fully intended to take part in the Democratic process and vote. There were three candidates, the Praetor, a nobleman by the name of Raylen, and another nobleman by the name of Jelar. Both the nobleman candidates were eligible to participate in the election practically because in the immediate after shocks of the king's death they had escaped the rounding up that many other nobles had endured by pledging themselves to the Praetor, who only told them that their loyalties should remain tied to the people of Engar.

Silas and Roger arrived to the polling house, many of which were located throughout the city, midway through the morning to find the place packed. The plaster home was little more than someone's personal domicile converted for public use, Silas noted as he entered the line that stretched out the door.

Though the people didn't know it Silas watchful eye caught sight of the true nature of what was going on. As the two of them stood in line Silas was sure that he could see certain people double voting, and as his time there progressed he knew that some had even left, changed clothes, and then come back. Even though there was a cadre of hired guards there to prevent this, and it was fully public knowledge that such actions were illegal, people still managed to find a way.

When Silas told Roger he learned a more depressing truth.

"In all likelihood," said Roger, fidgeting as a guard looked at his face, "that foul stink of a Praetor is paying the impoverished to stuff the ballots. With the royal treasury he inherited there is no limit to the chaos he could rouse."

Silas wasn't so sure that the double voters were following that particular line of motivational reasoning until he heard a pair of them talking.

"What a great job." A thin looking man whispered, who could have probably used another meal. "The office of the Praetor certainly does pay us well."

"Sure does," a man in tattered clothes whispered back, unaware that Silas could hear everything that was being said, "I reckon we must have put in at least fifteen votes for him between the two of us."

When Silas and Roger did finally reach the poll they could see that it would not be all that difficult to get around any security measures. The station was merely a box with voting slips next to it, and to vote at all a person had to do was write the name of the official they wanted and place it in the box. There were several offices at stake here, including that of citywide Mayor and the council of the people, which Roger was reminded of from his terrible directive; the conquest of Dorshen.

What a sad hour it had been for him then, Roger thought, but nothing could truly be worse than the travesty that the Praetor was committing now.

Roger and Silas had voted in near stifling silence, wanting more and more to sink into the background of the room full of people that had turned out, feeling the weight of each passing glance as though it were their last hour. Eventually, and after much of the people there had given each other much discourse, Silas left, pulling Roger out the door behind him. They had learned what they wanted to learn simply by keeping silent and listening in. Perhaps the country of Engar was not in such bad hands after all as none of the other electoral positions available had been compromised by fake voters. Roger, bending what was left of his battered pride, had voted just for the chance to keep the Praetor out of power, which he had been more than delighted to do.

After walking down the road they arrived at the cottage, pushing in through the door to find Sonia there, tidying up.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Well hello there, fellows. How was your time outside, or your day at the polls, or whatever mischief you to have gotten into today?"

"The best we can do now is wait." said Roger with a gleam. "If my greatest wish were granted then the Praetor would be swept out of this election like the toad he is."

"I can't say I feel the same. When I voted for the Praetor to take the office of Sovereign today I did so with pride. I really felt like his speeches connected with me, moved me." Silas was as serious as he could be when he said that and behind his mask of thrill he watched Sonia and Roger's faces for any hint of reaction. Roger exploded and it seemed for a moment that he would tear Silas' head clean off his shoulders while Sonia could only gape.

"You did what?!" challenged Roger at the top of his lungs.

"It was just a joke!" said Silas, trying to ward of the advancing Roger. "Nothing more!"

With that parting statement Silas disappeared up stairs to the attic, hiding from the two downstairs. Sonia and Roger looked at each other and shrugged as Roger apologized profusely for having become so angry.

A knock at the door drew the two of them to the front window where the well shaped Sonia peeped her head through the drawn window curtains to see five armored guardsmen waiting. They rapped on the door again and she motioned to Roger with desperation to head up the stairs and into the trap door attic and to seal it behind him. Roger understood her gestures and sped away as fast as his legs would carry him, holing himself up with Silas who was a little more than bitter.

"Are we becoming the old Roger again? Has that which must not be spoken of found our minds?"

Roger was left speechless and just as he thought to apologize they heard the door open and the clang of boots. Roger knew to be silent and Silas did all that he could to keep his breathing, now becoming rapid, in check.

"Good day, sirs." said Sonia, making a wide smile for the intruders. They only pushed past her and into open space were the then turned to speak.

"Sorry for the intrusion, Missus," one of the helmeted men said more politely than Sonia expected, "But we are under strict orders to search every abode in the days ahead for any signs of a few renegade nobles that might be camped out with dissenters and sympathizers. You'll understand if we just take a short look around."

"By all means, you tired, hard working men, do what you must, but try not to break anything."

The soldiers nodded to her and then fanned out around the house searching every room for signs of a list of names they had been given. After a quick but conclusive search that turned up nothing they all regrouped, made their apologies, then left through the door by which they had entered. They had never suspected a thing, and for that Sonia was extremely grateful as she loosened her grip on the metal candle stick that she kept hidden behind her back in the event that something tragic should unfold. She was a very peaceable woman, but in times of desperation she would gladly fight like a wounded beast, and Roger could see that in her face when she finally came to let them out for air.

Silas, feeling worn down emotionally, stayed there to count his blessings and think things through while Roger, glad to be free again, left and struck up things with Sonia one again. They talked like giddy children who had eyes only for each other and before long they found themselves bodily closer to one another than either had foreseen. Roger looked deep into her hazel eyes, holding her dainty hand in his palm. He gave it a squeeze before the two of them, their blushing faces and beating hearts livid, moved their lips together and kissed, with zest at first, then with passion.

Sonia took Roger by the hand, firmly, and then led him to her bed room where the door closed and locked.

By twilight Silas, who had taken a long nap in the attic, awoke and went down stairs to find Sonia and Roger, who were conversing politely.

"We were just about to come looking for you." said Roger, happier than Silas had ever seen him before.

"And why might that be?" asked Silas, perplexed.

"The counting of the votes is soon to be complete and we just know there will be another rally to announce things like who the mayor is, and even the Sovereign."

"You sound enthused." Silas said bluntly.

Sonia looked at Roger at smiled furtively.

"Yes, well, he and I talked."

That was enough for Silas and they walked out the door and off down the road to see what was in store for themselves and the world. Arriving at the center of the commotion the trio waited patiently for the venues to start. Their instincts had proven infallible as within minutes the stage was set for a crier to speak.

"The votes are in!" a man on stage shouted. All heads turned and the noise abruptly stopped. The Praetor emerged from the shadows to take the platform, almost by surprise as the audience gasped in anticipation and gladness.

"There is much to celebrate, for me at least." said the Praetor to the assembly. "You see, my vision was realized and democracy has been planted at the feet of the people, but even more so than that the people have spoken. I have ascended to the office of Sovereign! But this day is not without some tragedy and I share it with you, my people, only with the gravest of hearts. Raylen, who had been my fiercest competition, was found dead in his bed chamber this afternoon, after the vote had for the most part been cast. He and his manservant were both laying dead, stabbed, and on the floor dressed only in women's clothing and wearing wigs. While I cannot explain what I saw, I can offer my condolences in what we have come to suspect was a murder suicide. It was after this that I managed to squeak by with just enough votes from you, the people, to beat Jelar in an open and free ballot! I could not be prouder! My tenacity could be no greater!"

Silas nearly wretched the contents of his stomach, and Sonia, with a confused look on her face turned to follow Silas as he left the fanfare, headed back for home. Roger was the last to follow, as he had been standing rooted in spot, glaring at the Praetor and hoping beyond all hope that the man on stage would see him and respond. He did nothing of the sort but instead continued in his rantings as Roger realized that he was alone before hustling to catch up with Silas and Sonia.

They arrived home, all the way there wallowing in their disgust and fearing the absolute worst.

"Who do you think is to blame here?" asked Silas disenchanted with his newborn love of democracy. "The people? Is the Praetor truly like that or Roger, do you think it could be our dark star?"

"How could the people be to blame?" asked Sonia, growing in her confusion. "And what is this dark star you speak of?"

"I'm speaking from personal experience when I say the people are to blame," said Silas with remorse, "I have seen them behave in ways that are nearly inexplicable, though I now do not hold it to be their fault I am beginning to suspect that foolishness is in their very nature."

"I think that it is just the way of the Praetor, nothing more." said Roger to clarify.

"The dark star is nothing I would like to explain to you, it is far too despicable a thought to add to mind at this hour." Silas spoke softly, as if to himself alone.

"I'll explain later." Roger offered.

They went inside and retired early, after Roger had told Sonia the truth of what he thought was going on. She believed him for love and for no other reason, and with that he got back to mulling the possibilities of assassinating the Praetor tomorrow, at his memorial, once and for all.

They slept like creatures expecting the sky to fall at any moment, but in the morning they woke fresh and waited for the day to begin with new conflict and new optimism, both of which seemed to be in great supply. After waiting out the day the stroke of noon soon came upon them and Roger's hard-line thinking twisted in his mind, working up his lather of hatred for the Praetor. It was something he wanted to believe that he needed to feel in order to do what must be done, in order to have his revenge.

They arrived on time to the memorial after having waited around in the city to catch its exact time from passers by, who were all too happy to help. In short order they stood in the royal cemetery, not that far away from the palace where Roger had spent most of his life. As his golden edged sword glimmered at his waist, fastened to a leather belt, Roger became nostalgic as he waited patiently for the festivities to begin. H e had spent so many lost days of his life there, in the palace across the way, playing learning, planning and hoping, thinking of his father who was not often there. Hundreds of people gathered, most wearing black, and the last remaining nobles all grouped together. Instead of the huge turnout and platform that had been erected at the other events Roger and Silas had been to, this one had only a podium from which Roger assumed the Praetor would speak, captivate the crowd with his deceptions, and try to bask in all the positive light he could take.

Roger's instincts proved more than accurate as the Praetor, seeing that enough people had made their presence, walked slowly and deliberately up to the podium, dressed in a velvety black robe and wearing a pendant around his neck studded with a ruby so large that people at the edge of the crowd could see it.

"My time as Sovereign in a time of zero conflict has been short, and it has now ended. It was not this time against the people of Dorshen, nor would it be against the people of Telor'an, or against any neighbors or even people. Instead, this conflict is against something insipid, unforeseeable, and seemingly sapient. What do I speak of? Not all that long ago, when the results of the elections came here to Verlan, the seat of government for Engar, the news came of entire towns being engulfed in fog, and though there seem to have been no casualties it has greatly altered the perspectives and minds of those affected by it. I could not have foreseen this and I cannot answer the questions of how and why, but I can say that we must embrace one another and hold steady against the wind. I only say this now because it is an emergency and I thought it best to take every possible chance to make the news public.

"But in accordance with what we have all gathered here to do, I would like you all to remember your great King Roger and how he cared so much for the principal of Engar even though he dreamt of personal glories. I would like you all to know that whoever feels it necessary will soon be given the chance to speak their piece, as we all know that I was not King Roger's only companion.

He was great in his own respect, and he had a passion for ruling and lawmaking that is not often seen. Through the many years that I knew and advised him, ever since coming to the palace in my own humble way, I have known him to care about the people, though he had a funny way of showing it. When he put his mind to work there was little that could stand in his way. You may have seen from his war efforts how quick and judicious he was as a spirit and a man in uniting all Engar in common purpose, though it was one we all might not have approved of. I am proud to have called him friend, even though he was different in his personal ways, especially his ways of showing love. But perhaps that is enough from me, perhaps there are those among you who knew him better than even I, perhaps loved him. If so, please come forward and speak your piece for your peace."

The Sovereign yielded the podium and tossed a rose into a pile of flowers that stood at the front of the crowd instead of any coffin, since no body had ever been recovered. Roger had thought all of this through, but now, as he was so close to doing what he wanted to do so much, he cooled himself and reminded himself that he would surely die if he acted now and that he should hold instead. He thought only of what it had felt to once be in the dark star's grip and now wanted nothing more to avoid feeling any of those emotions, whether real or forced, ever again.

Let it be, he thought.

To Roger and Silas' surprise it was the court jester who now took to the podium, also dressed in black velvety robes, as if to match the Sovereign.

"Our Sovereign is right, there were many who new the old King, but I am prepared to offer the statement that none so well as myself. Our love was a dainty thing, as if a flower. I believe now, as I did then, that the beatings were worth it. Roger was worth it. He always needed his way, and though it hurt me to yield, I would do anything I could for such a worthy man, a worthy lover."

Sonia, hearing this and seeing Roger's boiling embarrassment, took his hand in hers squeezing it and whispering.

"We both know that isn't true." The words were barely audible as they left her lips, but Roger heard and understood. He caressed the hilt of his sword, as his veins bulged in anger.

I should be feeling pity, he thought, for that sad sorry old Praetor. Roger knew that the former Praetor must be paying people all over the place to defame his image after having been to the polls and seen firsthand. He shouldn't have come to expect any more from the man, but why was Jasper in on this?

"He probably has to keep up appearances." Silas whispered to Roger confidently.

"In the time we spent together I learned many things," continued Jasper, his face somber and distant, his hands visibly trembling in longing as they gripped the podium, "and I faced many trials. Human nature is a puzzle best left for god, for we are too flawed. Roger told me this himself, as we were eating kitten stew, and it has never left me. At first I couldn't come to accept that, but as we spent time together, hunting, torturing small animals, and spending from the royal coffers, I realized that there might be some truth to it after all. It seems there was no fact of reality to great or too small for the King to take interest in. He was a renaissance man and my only wish is that he could still be here today to see how he is mourned, how I loved him. Though our love was meant to be kept a secret I know it is a weight that I cannot bear any longer. In my confession to you I have but one regret, that I was so selfish with him. There must have been many other men who loved him as I have…" Jasper looked directly into the Sovereign's eyes as he spoke, as if he had only done what had been asked of him"…who are waiting their turn to speak. With a despondent heart I now acquiesce the podium."

The crowd was shocked and a few booed loudly, Sonia included, as a new man took to the podium wearing a crown of daisies.

"Think what you want!" the jester shouted as he walked away from the podium to the awkward crowd. "Roger will be remembered!"

"This will be the last time I turn and leave!" muttered Roger under his breath as he evaporated through the memorial attendance, pushing Sonia and Silas out with him to the open road.

They arrived at home, with Silas poking fun at Roger the whole way there. Silas felt that by keeping the man off balance he wouldn't have the chance to turn murderous and they would be able to live with clearer heads. He played his role to perfection and Roger was soon soothed.

"We can't live like this." said Roger thoughtfully as the door closed behind him.

"You are right, we must take down that stinking Sovereign as soo…"

"You misunderstand me, Silas. We can't let this dark star take our people to their graves."

Silas looked utterly surprised as he lit up with interest.

"You are right again, that mostly slipped my mind. But now I remember, and I am more worried than you could ever imagine. What if Gossam has been capsized into all this nonsense? My home, what will become of it?"

"Many questions, which we cannot answer, here at least. I say we do it. That is the only thing left to us, Silas. Let us find this dark star and see what we can do to defeat it. I think the clues to our victory lie in getting to the truth of all this."

"We shall leave immediately."

Silas looked at Sonia, who was left out of the decision, and at Roger who suddenly gave her a kiss. They entwined their bodies for a moment before Roger broke free to pack what little provisions would be needed. After scrounging around the house Silas and Roger were ready to go and bursting with energy. This was just one more of their attempts to make good on the promise of hope.

Sonia wept as they left.

"When will I see you again?"

"I can make no promises, but please if any fog comes escape with speed. And remember me as I loved you."

As they made their way off down the road Roger shouted back to his lover.

"Be mine!" And that was the last she heard from him before he went from sight.

"Shall we to the palace to steal some horses?" asked Roger, in a cheery mood.

"Yes we shall!"

In no time at all they were moving right along on the road to the north, Silas riding an old paint horse named Mrs. Boppet, and Roger riding one of his many chargers, this one all black and named Porter. They had taken their time and snuck past the small detail of security that was supposed to be guarding the stables. Since Roger was familiar with all the animals there was no amount of rebellion or confusion from them and he slipped away as cunningly as he had made his entrance.

"How long of a ride have we got ahead of us?" asked Silas when they hit the open countryside.

"It's anyone's best guess," responded Roger as he spurred his horse, "but if we hurry it could be a week at best."

"And what do we expect we will find when we get there?"

"I cannot say for certain, but among other things, I am sure, after the speech he made, the jester will make his appearance. He has many secrets to keep, and he is loathe to admit he is a sour liar."

"What way do we take?"

"We shall find a river as it snakes north and follow it to the ruins. After exploring those we should find our treasure."

"So do you really eat kitten stew?" Silas was trying to allow for Roger's perceptions of what people now considered him to understand that he still had at least one firm ally.

"Human nature is a puzzle best left to god? Is that not what he said? Such nonsense… When I finally do come back to the public eye they will wonder why I ever tolerated such nincompoops to begin with. But perhaps god or something like it is to blame in all this. What would create a universe so dazzling as this and then let it all go to rot? Sounds like the work of an individual to me."

"Perhaps it is not any god that should be blamed, but ourselves. We are, we want, we see, and above all we fear. Once I saw things differently but now it has become too evident that the hearts and minds of men are turned inwards at all times. People have no lasting love for one another outside of the will of instinct, which holds so much course over what we as the animal man can ever become."

"You sound familiar. I was once of that mind. If you are saying that love is little more than an evolution in man's ongoing ability to fear, then I see your mind. But after having loved Sonia I can't really agree to that. There must be something more there has to be. Be it magic, or mayhem that produced this plane, we are not here to blame ourselves for being so little, so small, when compared to what we see and feel, that our beauties and idiosyncrasies as a race are called into trial for their very reality under the banner that they are just one more way for us to feel fear. And if not that than to distract ourselves from it."

"I challenge only myself in all this. What you and I must discover, in this time, is whether or not this has all been for the moment of truth, or the truth of the moment. That moment when we see most clearly it would seem as love were the guiding hand, the divine prospect. No one knows this better than I. I can feel it. But fear is always to be present, but only because of these many questions that we ask. The truth is probably a more terrible one then it would seem if we can be left alone, abandoned, told by whatever it is that we worship, and we all find something, to change. I say it has all been for what we call distinguishing ourselves from the beast. The fear of sharing in its likeness has driven us time and time again to outdo previous insanities until we are left with something so human, so ineffectual as love."

"You say you feel it. Knowing and feeling are different facets of the same diamond, but I ask you, which of the two is more beautiful? If it were to rain tears for your Mary only then would you understand."

"You can't seriously believe that. I know you better than that. Only the craziest embrace the notion that something else is to be blamed. You must look within yourself, this beauty, you speak of it as if it could prove anything, change by its own right. Besides, are you implying that I think feeling is a better substitute for logic than knowing? To know as I have known is something I could never surrender."

"I am merely saying that your disposition is far from balanced, you place too much emphasis on your personal experiences as a purveyor of emotion, as a vessel of undisclosed truth. You are more like a bundle of facts and figures, intentions, even. You are made up of something that can be cut in half, then in half again, and once more, and so on until the halves are so minute we could not stomach to think of it anymore. Perhaps your intentions are guided by what you know! Just think, your defining glorious feature, human intentions, are really nothing other than what you know, and thusly you approve for love to be something separate from fear."

"Once, but that has long passed."

"You speak as if you are an old man. Hold to hope. Darkness, or whatever light it offers, will not avail you."

"And if not love, then I suppose there is the hope that through fear we are still so close to something real."

"That's right, lively and cheery! On the bright side reality has not escaped us one way or the other. "

"So what god do you think we will find then, at the end of this long dark road, far from Mary, far, far from Sonia, if we are to dispatch of our enemy?"

"I think only nature, and the will of instinct, as it was so lightly put. My investments in whatever god through the ages have been nothing other than drunken delusion. There is no place for that with me now. Once, I meant to build a cathedral, but it was all for me, all for man. I can't, you can't, seriously believe that there is something else beside our love at work in this universe."

"Perhaps it is the lasting mystery, then. I still do not see love."

"Pity that such a man as you once was, but now is so far removed from what he is at his core."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Silas and Roger, making as good a time as they could on the road northward, soon came to find themselves running along side a wide running river. It was murky brown and its dirt banks had been eroded by storms and high tides. The sun was shining brightly, though more than half the day had disappeared, and the horses were holding up strongly against the persistent up and down bouncing of their riders. Their was no place quite like home, which Silas and Roger both came to see with each step they took into the unknown and further from the reach of the shells that had grown into all their lives long, in the heartlands of Engar. Tall sycamore trees offered shade along the path they followed, set intermittently enough to cast waving shadows of branches and leaves, but not close enough together to present any real obstacle to their motions. The heat in the air was dissipating and the beads of sweat that had run down Roger's face and onto his breast tinged at the back of his mind. Silas began sipping from his drinking gourd, slurping loudly as the Roger tested out wetting his lips with his tongue, to see if he also were in need of any hydration. The sight of Silas recovering himself was contagious and enough to set Roger's mind to drinking, which he soon did, refusing to slack the reigns and slow the horse's steady progress.

"Ahh… I remember this river." said Roger, as though he had known this place like home.

"Do you, now?" asked Silas, thinking only that it was a fortunate thing to have a companion so well traveled. "So you have been this way before? I must say that I am shocked to learn you would venture so far away from anything of particular value or merit."

"I did not mean that I had been this way before, but only that I had come to recognize this place from the erstwhile reports of one of my exploratory units. When I had first come to learn of this fog and misery it was through him, and he left me rudimentary instructions on how to find what I am sure will be the ground zero of the dark star. A pity, though. That very same man who reported is likely to serve the Sovereign now."

"Best not to dwell on such matters. Your rule was tragically flawed anyway. There was little you could have done about it. So, do we just follow this river?"

"That is the most of it. Follow the water and we shall surely find the barren north. Though be warned, things there are not as they should be. My suspicions are that the dark star has used its power over life to alter the creatures of the land so that whatever remains of them is marked and deformed."

"What are you saying? That we will find killer squirrels on this venture?"

"From what I was told that may be precisely the case. There is an evil that never sleeps, and we must confront it. So, do you do it for fear of dying, or for love?"

"No man can actually say what motivates him, for then he will be truly greater than the sum of his parts and he will have the right to change what is inside him, what he can know to be true of himself, in an effort to perfect the machinations of purpose."

"Are you suggesting that I, the disenfranchised king, am not already greater than the sum of his parts?"

"Not so long as instinct is your will to power, then you are merely a clever cog in a much larger device which we call nature."

"Can you feel this too?"

"Haha, very funny for you to mock me. I only speak with sincerity."

There was a rustling in the leaves and Roger, ears perking, was certain that he had heard something behind them and in the brush that lay off from the path.

"Did you hear anything?" asked Roger, deeply sure of himself.

"Nothing, but if you did hear anything it is likely some animal of the bush. We wouldn't worry ourselves with that."

Thinking little of the happening they continued on their way, arguing the finer points of the world and breathing the fresh air. The bright fiery orb of the sun in the sky took its gradual flight path back down the slope of the western horizon, where it dipped out of sight, and then again out of mind. Silas and Roger had no intention of stopping, but they were conscientious of the animal's needs. Stopping now and again to give them a drink from the river's hardy banks they dismounted them and patted their necks. As the night thickened they only pressured the horses for greater speed, setting a near grueling pace for everyone of the trek. They planned to do their best in counting the hours to dawn by watching the numberless stars swinging across the blackness, and then, when they were only two hours from sunrise, the lot of them would take a four hour nap before breaking camp and riding out again.

For all Roger's time as a despot he still showed Silas a great deal of courage in his own thinking. As they conversed there was little that Silas could say or do to dissuade Roger from formulating some counter proof or hypothesis against every argument he could contrive. Roger did not do this to be ornery, but rather to keep his mind agile and equipped with the logic to produce strange new concepts in the world of the mind. He had always known himself to be an aggressive copulative thinker, and in mental freedom he was surprised and pleased to see that had not changed.

They tried their hardest to form some rudimentary strategy. They had reasoned in coming here that on account of the facts, one of which being the lack of evidence that they could ever find a Genesis star in a timeframe reasonable enough to save Engar, that taking the bull by the horns and wrestling it to the ground, no matter who was left for dead along the way, was a cogent solution. Roger's prayer was that this malevolence that they faced could be damaged by conventional weapons, could in fact be cut into with his golden sword, which he never let slip from his grasp or stray to far from his hip. Silas was of the mind that the mind was the only weapon available to them, that they must build a bridge to it before it found one to them and assimilated them. Silas could sense the problems with his logic, could almost see the steepness of the battle, but he could not allow himself to know it. He figured, as the hopeful so often do, that two against one were odds to be bet upon and that he and Roger could discover the dark star's secret.

They spent a significant amount of time in silence, pursuing some outward evidence that it would be conceivable to generate some type of connections using their thoughts alone. They both were sure it was possible, having survived long enough to see it happen. Roger even boasted of his gleaming blade, trying to show Silas some proof that he had given it special properties of the mind as he sliced it through the air.

The darkness was everywhere and before they knew it the time had come, by their reckoning, to stop, lie down, and rest. The horses were plucky and pleased, kneading the ground with their hooves as their saddles were removed and hastily capturing some sleep, tethered to a tree. Silas and Roger did likewise, completely unsure of how they would know when to wake without oversleeping.

Nothing extraordinary or appalling happened through the shade of unconsciousness and fortunately, Silas was a light sleeper. While he was still very tired, he managed to wake after four hours, something they hadn't thought possible through anything other than speculation.

It was light and dew was everywhere. The day promised to be a heated one, with the ground already shimmering from the refracted light of the sun nearest to the earth's surface. They wasted no time in saddling up and getting underway, reasoning that it would be a simple matter of training the horses to follow the river and catching some extra rest in the process. The road was far more difficult than they had expected, and resting while riding had only served to slacken their pace. Outcroppings of rocks had started to show and Silas, Roger, and the horses had to tentatively make their way around them, straying from the line of sight of the river. It was no matter, though, and within time they were fully awake and pressing onward at the most testy speed with which they could sustain the horses.

"So what do you think of Sonia? I mean most deeply. I am curious to see if you have become what I once was, so entrenched in the belief that the power of one was the only power a man would need."

"That is a needy postulation. I am certainly not that brainwashed. You would need all rather than one to accomplish what I have in mind, although I do confess after having tasted the nectar of a woman's love I can say that your perspective can, at times, be a valid one. But to me Sonia is the embodiment of the world. She is my long hard struggle. She has proven that the people are deserving of whatever wonders the lawmaker's of the land can give to them, should owe them. Make no mistake, I intend for her to bear my child, if she will have me."

"If she will have you? Are you saying she might actually consider the possibility of wanting to think as if there might be another, better, more fruitful man for her?"

"Ha! Not hardly. I know that if I survive to rest my head in her bosom once more things in my life could really change for the better."

"In more pressing news of our planned attack do you think we should take the approach of sneaking in or flaying it with everything we've got?

"I think that only a fool would dare to come into physical contact with it. We must take the route of knowing our enemy. If it is physical matter, than physical matter can destroy it. We should run a few cursory attacks, retreat, collect all the information we can, then search for a Genesis star without over committing ourselves. Only then can we achieve the power necessary to overcome."

"So you say you have some knowledge of the road ahead. What can I come to expect, in detail?"

"From what I know it will be a head trip. This dark star's power is pervasive and sinister. There are animals that are marred and seemingly transformed by it, which you already know, but beyond that I speculate with the facts I have been given that spirits, or specters exist."

"Specters? What could those have once been?"

"As I understand it they are wisps of shimmering self determining intelligence, probably as dangerous as anything else, if we even come across them. Perhaps they were once men, perhaps they are simply a contrivance of the dark star's. How could I know? What I do know is that we must be on our guard at all times. There are ruins in which all this madness is hidden, as if waiting among the wreckage of a fallen civilization, feeding off it. What power it has gained from it I do not know, but it is sure to be a fight."

The long and winding road by the river carried them on for days until they came by a fork in the road by which they had continued northerly. Ruins dotted the land and offered questions of who or what had built them, so long ago. Not dissuaded by the crumbling signs of whatever dynasty had once existed in these parts, Silas and Roger bravely pursued their course of action, talking and calculating the dangers of what lay ahead with courage and directive.

The ruins began thickening as the days grew on. At first they had been sparse, but after at least a week of hard travel they had come to a city around nightfall, where light fog was rolling in and around them. Taking their horses as far as they could go was a priority, and they had discussed the horrible possibility of losing them in some terrible accident or skirmish. They would be as much as stranded and forced to make the rest of their journeys on foot, which was none too thrilling a prospect.

Silas and Roger fully planned to travel well into the night, as they had been doing, and make as much forward progress as could be allowed by the facts of over exertion and sleeplessness. Giant pillars set at odd angles and gray, crumbled, torn, and frayed, were all about them as silent starlight shone through the fog with each periodic break in its coverage. Silas could make out buildings, grand, but broken, all about him and as they stuck to what was left of the path, which was narrowing out and fading into the grasses and shrubs, Roger began to feel the shadow growing in his mind.

Had he seen something? Heard something perhaps? He couldn't be sure as his eyes darted from rock to rock, boulder to boulder as he cringed in a full effort to understand what was happening in him.

Rage was boiling in him. He had know entered the domain of the dark star, he was sure of it as he worked furiously to keep his wit sharp and his thoughts clear of the emotional cloud that had ruled him once. It was much easier than he thought it would be. Now that he was aware of his adversary, which had once been an unseen menace, he could bar the gate of his mind and drive it from himself, though it still wore at him with a dizzying affect.

Things went much the same for Silas who began to have memories and flashbacks of his night of anguish, so long ago. And yet it was the last time he would see anything of heaven, of Mary, he thought.

But hope.

He reminded himself of this, making up whatever story was necessary, that the Genesis star could bring her back, in a valiant effort to keep steady and fight against the tyranny of mental oppression.

"Roger," Silas whispered loudly, in an effort to be discrete, at the man who trotted along not to far from him "wouldn't you think it a good idea to make camp for the night and wait until morning, fully awake, and with much less out there to fear? What if we come across one of the freaks or specters in this foggy gloom? What will we do then?"

"I think you worry too much." But for that, Roger slackened his reigns feeling the same unease that Silas did. "But you have a real and acceptable point. We can stop here and wait for the morning. Full morning. Nothing is more valuable than our safety and we should take the time to assure ourselves whatever advantages we can afford."

Roger and Silas began to scout out with their eyes places to make camp. Silas had it in his head to make a fire and cozy up, but in the back of his mind he could only worry and wonder. There were too many dangers to deal with, no matter how big he felt with the once king of Engar by his side.

"There!" said Roger with a start. He pointed to a large boulder that was right up against another of similar size and texture. Where the two large rocks nearly touched they offered cover. The boulders were misshapen and oddly cut, but at their point of intersection there was a much smaller degree of visibility for anything that might be lurking in the periphery, which Silas noticed as Roger had done and silently applauded.

"That should be perfect." Silas said with quiet enthusiasm, as he changed his horse's heading. "We will have some cover from this new land and sky, and we shall have a longer night's sleep, and that I know we have both greatly yearned."

Silas and Roger arrived at the boulders in a better mood, wasting no time at all in pitching their camping supplies.

"Would a fire be welcome?" asked Silas.

Without answering Roger silently began collecting bramble and combustibles for their traditional fire, looking up overhead to see that the sky was shielded from view by the rocks they had chosen. This was a safe, protected spot, and seeing that there was little chance of any danger Roger went ahead tossing his fuel into a ring of stones that Silas had already prepared.

After a few attempts with a stick, a fire starting bow, and twine, Silas rejoiced as his grass and brush began to ember, which he deftly used to ignite the larger fire. Vivid baby flames, small and cornered by a breeze, grew like a rising flood and engulfed the twigs and sticks, showing much brighter and violent as the air crackled.

Satisfied, Roger rolled himself up in his blanket as the horses grazed on the sparse vegetation that was close at hand and at foot. They seem dually pleased with themselves, though they were beasts of burden, and in time Roger's eye's closed for the night, dreaming of open pastures where he once rode freely, not at all like his long and terrible exile.

Silas began nodding off and after long he snoozed by the burgeoning fire, his head falling into his chest as he leaned against the cold, hard, and unrelenting boulder that did so well to hide him.

In the dancing light of flickering shadows and lost flares of momentary brilliance, set against the sleeping travelers and their home of stone, it watched them. Stalking, with whatever instinct was left to it from its cruel transformation, it moved in closer, and closer, its full eyes open, bright and wide. Its body, deformed, molded by some new force of its nature, sat passively, its body quailing for a kill, its spine shuddering in ecstasy. It could sense that the ones who rested in its sights now were helpless, alone, and it knew this all from their bodies gentle rising and falling, from how they slept. Years of hard hunting and torturous fog had churned this beast's mind into something sinewy and vicious, willing to partake in the slaying of anything that moved, or could be trusted to struggle.

It moved in, one step at a time, on its four paws, its body low to the ground, its teeth set in a snarl. It had always been a predator, but once it had been a creature of symmetry, beauty. All that was gone from it and in its place a terrific hunger was sown, a thirst for red blood bleeding from its sleeping treats. It was able to smell them on the wind, they hadn't properly bathed in days and they stood out against the palatable dirt and bramble that it had grown accustomed to smelling and breathing in onto its tongue.

Placing its paw daintily on a stone that lay in its path it balanced itself and strode into the camp, bold, stealthy, and self assured. The ones before him would not know until the last moments when their eyes glazed and their twitching stopped that they had been foolish to tread his turf, to walk his roads, and to breathe his air.

The creature was in striking distance, its marvelously muscled claws razor sharp and poised to strike. It stood over Roger's sleeping body, taking in deep breaths through its nostrils and salivating at the taste of what was to come.

Roger, dead asleep, stirred and rolled. He was in the middle of his night long rest, but something tickled his brain, a warm air moved across his face. His unconscious mind told him that something was not right and he opened his eyes, one, and then the other, to find a severely altered animal with a wild snout and grinning teeth.

Roger could tempt fate no longer. After his eyes had taken in the faint light of the beast, he thought it must be a dream, but within a second he sprung up, whipping the golden edged sword which, by its own rite, was hungry for flesh.

The freakish creature struck at Roger as he was rising to his feet and he barely managed to parry the raking nails of claws that were black and sharpened. Stumbling back into the boulder under the force of the blow, much more forceful than he would have suspected, he tried to catch himself and formulate a cogent line of attack.

"Silas!" he yelled, though he muted himself in a thought that his noise might attract more beasts.

Silas' head popped up and he sat bolt upright, looking around the camp in a daze until his eyes came across the unforeseeable, the demented animal violating Roger. Silas was strong, in his own mind, but as he drew his dagger from his supplies, fumbling dumbly in the darkness, he saw at once that this thing, whatever it was or had once been, could snap him and rend his bones. This thing was too fast, too strong, and as his body circled around behind it, dagger in his sweating clutches, he grimaced, seeing Roger's leg take a nick as he moved it back and away, but too late. The scratch was only superficial, as Roger was gifted in combat and possessed an otherworldly speed, but it was in rapid succession that he had to parry his blade against scratches and lunges.

Any time now he would die.

Silas could see that, could smell the strong blood, it wouldn't be long before he would die also.

He had fully flanked the creature, even though it knew he was there. Moving in closer at a wild dash that only had to cover a few steps he made a split second decision, one that he was sure would give him the greatest chance of survival. Instead of trying to stand over the creature and stab at it, which would eventually allow it to catch him of balance, he leapt through the air, his body flying gracelessly and his eyes burning with tear and hatred, just as the beast turned to confront him, sensing his attack.

His strategy proved valid and insightful, though it was not enough. Closing the distance between them and grappling the torso allowed him to take the creature to the ground, where it yelled and writhed as Silas stabbed and slashed and cut and sliced desperately, mercilessly. Even as the creature bled out it managed to catch Silas' blade in its jaws and flip it away from him. As it fluttered through the air Roger, having had a moment to regain his composure, was ready to join in, though he could see no clear way to hit the creature without striking Silas as it flipped and mounted his companion, ready to kill.

Silas was his own monster though, and had the instincts of a natural born killer. Before he could even take a scratch he had gouged both the thing's eyes out with his fingers and fingernails, feeling the mushy, bloody mess run down his hands. Roger then acted, driving his magnificent virgin blade deep into and then through the creature's neck, which shot blood.

The blade was lodged in the neck of the beast, which kept itself alive by some miracle, wrenching its head and breaking Roger's hold on the hilt loose.

The thing stumbled clumsily forward, wavering under its own weight, and then died unceremoniously collapsing in a defeated heap by the light of the fire, and the now showing moon. Silas and Roger both huffed for air, their tired lungs taking each pumping blast of fresh oxygen in and out, supplying their sweating, blood covered bodies with life. Silas rolled onto his belly, exhausted, and lay still for a moment, thinking only of how fortunate he and Roger were to have survived such a brutal attack with nary but a scratch between the two of them. Roger backed up against the rock face spectacularly impressed with his own feats of self defense and aggression.

The beast had deserved what it had gotten and Roger slowly lowered himself to the ground, remembering only the large bloodshot eyes the creature had possessed. Silas slowly hoisted himself to his feet and pulled his aching soul over to the dead creature.

"Pity we can't keep the body as a trophy."

Roger didn't respond, so Silas looked the thing over, noting its elongated paws and remarkable, carved physique. Kicking it and using his foot as leverage he had a hard time of rolling the dead body over so that more of it became visible. Silas could see the seeping stab wounds he had inflicted, the gashes and the tearing, but what he most wanted to see was the thing's face.

In his mind, it was nothing but a passing curiosity, looking at the pits of its eyes where soft tissue, muscle, and nerve showed. As he looked he could not help but wonder at his own prowess, at his own luck and greatness, none of which he carried around with himself or in any of his mentalities.

Having had enough he reckoned that things had been balanced out for the night, that his will had triumphed over that of the dead beast. He was reminded of his road conversations with Roger, as he considered just how he had managed to strike such a lucky blow.

Roger showed that he had the same things on his mind, as Silas walked over to him and sat beside him. Once their breath had been sufficiently caught, Roger spoke.

"How in the world did you manage that? I feel that is the second time you saved my life, as I know that my back was against the wall, and my resolve stretched too thin. You wrestled it to the ground and put its eyes out. How could you even contend with a creature that lithe and wicked?"

"You know as well as I. The will of instinct has proven itself a worthy cause in my mind once again. Know your enemy's weakness and strike with deadly swift vengeance."

"But that was still remarkable! I hope that my grandchildren speak of this night, passing your story on for time immemorial. You are a force to be reckoned with. I just hope you bring that same fight when we find this dark star."

"Perhaps our strategy should be essentially the same, one of us to distract it and the other to go for whatever is proven to be its eyes."

"Let's just live as we can and worry about that later. We should move our campsite and get as much sleep as possible. This cannot happen again."

Silas and Roger moved quickly, gathering their things in a heap near the fire, looking around for other sites. They knew where they were was in a likeliness still a safe spot, but for their purposes it had been compromised and they did not want to take the risk of another thing stumbling into their laps as they slept. They had no way to be sure of the sensitivity of the creature's senses, or even whether or not they occupied what would be their nesting or hunting grounds, and one encounter was enough to convince them that changing locations if attacked would throw any pursuers off their trail.

Roger was proud of himself, and he smiled broadly as he forced himself over to the dead beast in a half hearted limp that left him unsure and feeling vulnerable. He was not bleeding profusely, but nonetheless the sappy red liquid dribbled for his cuts, which he thought to have bandaged with scrap cloth. Standing over the body he gazed intently at his sword's jewel encrusted hilt and gathered it into his palm, tugging it from the neck of the slain foe. Try as he might it was lodged firmly in place and as he placed a second palm on the hilt, gripping and pulling with his weight he saw that he would have to use the entire strength and force of his body to pry it free.

In a flash he had ripped it loose it held it before his eyes, shining in the dim light and dripping blood. Roger was surprised by his own power, recalling how deeply the blade had been driven into the once live corpse, and wanted to brag to Silas, but considered only that morale wasn't founded on such principals.

Silas was ready and Roger wiped his blade clean in the dirt, attaching it to his hip and spotting Silas' dagger in the tundra. Recovering it, Roger trooped off after Silas who had given up on waiting any longer for any reason and had left the camp sight behind, extinguishing the fire and pulling the horses along with him.

It had probably been the fire that had attracted the thing to the camp in the first place, the smell of burning embers, the faceted light, all indicators to a honed hunter that something lurked about. Small wonder they had been snuck up upon, living that recklessly. Roger hurried and caught up to Silas, both of whom had little trust for the environment and dodged from rock to rock, pitching and rolling, as if that would thwart the stalwart senses of their unseen enemies.

It did not take long for the pair to converge on a sturdy little depression that fit the bill of what Roger would have likely recognized as a crater. Doing their best to tether the horses they dropped their supplies wearily and tore out their sleeping blankets, more willing to rest than they had been before. It had been a taxing fight, a struggle that left them disoriented and out of position, but the experience of it had done it least a little to prepare them for the dangers that lurked ahead, brooding unsympathetically in the shadow and darkness.

"It was probably that fire that killed us." Silas whispered, trying to narrow down the possibilities of what had drawn the creature to them. "The burning ember and smoke must have been carried off on the breeze and brought to the attentions of some predator. Best that we not try that again."

Roger was already rolled up in his blanket, eyes closed, sighing.

"Where would I be without you?" he asked almost rhetorically. "It's not been that easy to be me, but you sure have made a time of carrying me on your back from the flames. I applaud you. You have a strong spirit and a burning desire to survive, the fire of your soul has surely spread to me."

"But rest we must." said Silas, watching Roger laying still with his eyes closed and not wanting to draw out the night any more than was necessary.

Sleep claimed them both, and in peaceful bliss they remained still for the night, thankful to be alive.

Chapter Thirty

Silas woke with a jerk, lifting his head and peering though the murky haze, staring out and among the leaning columns and offset pillars, the boulders strewn about as if casually tossed from the hand of an unseen giant. Roger was still there, sleeping near him, and a moment's glance at the sky, even though it was largely hidden from sight, told Silas that the two of them had over slept. Tine was wasting.

Maybe it was the fog, melding into their minds through their lungs, mouth, and nostrils, but there was no way to be sure. Best that he not worry about it, Silas thought forlornly.

Begrudgingly lifting his body to a standing position, Silas moved in on Roger, pushing him with a heavy foot until his dead weight gave way and he rolled back and forth along the ground. Roger's hand fastened around Silas' calf with lighting speed and his nails dug into his skin, tightening his grip on whatever had hit him and he was forced to reel in. Silas noted with calm analysis that Roger had yet to open his crumb encrusted eyes to see what had bothered him. Roger could not be to sure of anything after what had happened last night, and within a passing moment he looked up at his assailant only to find the vexed face of Silas glowing over him before he let go.

"Get up ye' lazy brute!" Silas said, putting on airs.

"That time already?"

Silas grabbed Roger by the scruff of the neck and worked at dragging him to his feet, quite unsuccessfully, and eventually let him go, dropping him to the ground. Roger considered his options, then rose, wasting no more of their precious time.

Everything was packed and ready to go in under a minute, Silas and Roger planted firmly in their leather saddles and rearing to leave. Trotting off they worked to keep their bearings, ever on the look out for more beasties and specters, and any or all other horrible things that they had little desire to come into contact with.

The day proved to be a long one, and the fog a natural depressing agent. They had encountered little trouble, but had stumbled across the nest of some type of flying creature that seemed not to be at home. Within minutes they found one circling far and away in the sky, as the fog had let up slightly, but to their good fortune it did not notice them. Thinking they would have had another hard fight ahead of them and righteous kill, the pair sped away, trying to follow the general pattern of the ruins to find the thickest of what remained of the once city.

It was darkening when they began to enjoy their first successes, stumbling on through a valley with high cliff faces rearing up on either side and densely populated with broken buildings.

Silas had developed the altogether sour feeling he had endured in days gone by, nights when he had dreamed, and moments that he was now sure was the dark star calling out to and claiming his mind. Roger felt it also, and with an uneasy silence growing between them, it was Silas who first thought to pull themselves in, as if a fish caught on a line.

"We must follow the bridges. Follow our minds. " he said enigmatically, looking blankly into the fog, and at the many passageways that showed themselves on the cliff face to their right. They had never checked behind themselves, and the fog was closing in on their flank, slowly surrounding them with each further step taken.

Roger seemed to understand, or at least thought he did.

"I see what you say. We must be the aggressors, if we are ever to find this dark star, we must train our minds onto it, connect to it if only for a brief moment."

"Precisely."

Silas and Roger candidly closed their eyes, meditating. Silas was blown away by the immediate connection he achieved, and Roger gasped, soon following suit.

"The fog must naturally enhance the ability of things to connect to the dark star. That is so obviously why it is allowed at the scene of its torrid crimes." Silas shivered as he spoke, fearful of the presence he detected.

The horses bounced along, their eyes widening with a dawning realization that all was not as it should be. Though they were little more than beasts of burden they had an innate sense about them that told them to fear, and to be cautious. Even though the jittery animals were creating a general feeling of anxiety for Silas and Roger, they still felt the gravity of proximity to the boiling cup of chaos, and they were homing in on its location, second by second.

"There!" said Roger, pointing to a ridge imbedded into the cliffside to the right. "Through there and we will surely find it. I have the connection, the bridge, but I will let it go from me for it is a travesty and a sore upon my mind."

Silas could feel it too, and reluctantly admitting it, he followed Roger toward the cliffside, which had a steep path leading up a slope to a tunnel with a stone entrance about it. Without delay they altered course and soon mounted the slope, stopping in front of the tunnel entrance to dismount their steeds and leave them tethered. They had become to wild to continue, bucking and neighing, sensing the evil that lurked just beyond.

"You do realize, Silas, that from here onward there is no turning back. Through this tunnel I foresee the dark star. I know it. You have been like a brother to me, and I do not regret one minute spent with you. There is no victory in death, but you know that better than I."

"Onwards, then."

Silas and Roger entered the tunnel's pitch blackness and felt their way along the walls until, after a few turns, they could see light.

Pebbles and rocks rolled down the slope as the sinewy man, full of life and feeling so close to what he had failed to finish, scrabbled up the path to the tunnel entrance where not but seconds ago the former king, his once intended target, and a man named Silas, who had proven himself both durable and scrappy, had faded into the darkness.

Gossam's town crier carrying his blades, and more ready than willing to make a few more notches on his belt, pursued. He came to the tunnel entrance and darted inside, unaware of any dangers that might lurk in the foul depths of the path at his feet.

Silas and Roger had already emerged from the other end, and stood on a stone carved ledge in an incomparably massive basin, one that was a long circle of cliffs with ruins all through out the center.

But that was not what caught them, not what obliged them to pause. Standing at the edge of the ledge, made by some brilliant artisan of days by gone, they could see at the dead center of the basin a colossal sphere of cascading, shifting, brilliance, composed of drifting circuits of ethereal dust and light itself, with symbols churning on it purpled surface, a darkness also spilling from it, as though it were meant to bleed shade.

"For I have tasted with my own two eyes."

"My word, Roger, such a sad occasion when something so beautiful could be the death of us all. It really is hard to believe. Something so simple…" Silas felt the tug against his mind, like the changing of the tide as it called itself back to the ocean. He caught himself, seeing that his mind was being gradually sucked into the dark star's swollen black hole.

"We must make haste, follow me!" Roger shot off down the sloped path to take cover behind a near collapsed building, pressing his weight against the wall and hiding by a corner, just out of way of the dark star's line of sight. Silas was soon behind him, and they darted from wall to wall, building to building, boulder to boulder, and pillar to pillar, hiding at all times, fearful, but brave against the tide rising.

They could almost touch the dark star, if they dared to fly, now that they were as close to it as they ever imagined. Silas gazed entranced into its rolling depths of marks and symbols, grasping at their meaning in his own mind and seeing them as they were intended. He could almost understand. Moved by what floated in the air before him, at least a dozen yards off the ground, he gained the wisdom of the star through its nearness, but fought hard to shelter his soul against its rhythmic pull.

Roger was much savvier. He stood with his eyes averted, clutching his sword to his breast, its golden edge reflecting the light of the dark star like a mirror, only showing something different than what had been projected. Roger noticed this during a sidelong glance to get his bearings, that the dark star shined marks, but that the marks reflected from his blade's surface were entirely different, almost as if it were a window to somewhere else.

"Shall we make one last charge?" asked Roger, daringly. "Or are we as near to its heart as we'll ever be?"

"One last advance aught to do it. Follow me!"

Silas, eyes locked on the dark star, rushed out from behind their hiding space with Roger in hot pursuit, straight to a massive pillar set crookedly in the earth. The dark star was humongous, its spherical girth spanning what would have been an entire field or meadow, by Silas' reasoning, and moving any closer to it would be an act of desperation or suicide, both of which flew in the face of his heart wrenching, burning desire. It loomed over them, with fog filtering through. It was if the whole of the sun had somehow come down from the sky to earth and settled in the air over Silas and Roger's heads. For the first time the pair stared directly at it together, their heads set back and arced to the sky where its gentle glow warmed their faces.

The longer they stared, the sicker they began to feel, a sickness that began in the chest and moved throughout their full symmetry, binding their souls to their flesh and trembling the foundations of their being.

"How are we to strike at it, to test the thought that material matter can in fact inflict some lasting damage? It is simply to large, and the way it floats there… So simple… So…real…"

"Snap out of it, Roger!" Silas said lightly, slapping his palm to the back of his head. "We did not come this far to…"

Yet as Silas spoke he felt a sharp pang, almost as though he could sense his surroundings, coming from his rear. He turned his head and body round swiftly, seeing nothing in the first moments, then everything he thought to fear in the second.

It was the crier, strutting boldly and in full view of the dark star, supposing that it even relied on visual perceptions. While Silas couldn't be sure, he knew innately that it required at least a clear line of sight to find a mind that knew to hide from it.

Yet here was the crier of days gone by, of Gossam, of home.

Home.

Water that Silas feared to tread. He was well aware of the current dragging at his mind, that it wanted him to relive the times that had scarred him most deeply, that it could taste his blood, smell his weakness. And home was just about where all that had happened.

He closed his mind like a steel trap and tapped Roger's shoulder so that he turned about. The crier came closer, slowly, but as surely as night becomes day, and he would reach them as inevitably as that same day would become night once more.

Their eyes were locked onto one another, Silas and the crier, and their heads unwavering even as the crier's body bounced up and down with each step, even as he carefully stepped over every stone in his path.

By now the dark star had sensed their wake, probably because of the crier's dire fixation with them, and Roger and Silas felt it press their minds like a crashing wave, or a thunderbolt of lightning.

The crier was almost upon then. He brought his blade to his tongue and licked the edge from handle to tip sadistically; he meant to finish what he had started. When he was less than ten yards away he broke out into a jog, his focus never leaving, Silas, never leaving Roger, and as the last five yards finally came he began to sprint at full pace, preparing to charge like a wild stallion.

Time seemed to stop for Silas, who at once recognized himself as the first intended victim, with the majority of the crier's momentum carrying off in his direction.

He watched, from behind his own eyes, trapped in his own braincase, feeling helpless. He waited.

The temperature had been increasing sharply for some reason unknown to Silas, and in the purple light of the dark star he could see the sweat drip from his adversary's pores, could see and time the man's step, the fall of his weight, the bitterness of his resolve painted onto his face.

Silas had little time to react and reached for the crier's knife as it slashed down through the air and at his face, gripping his forearm with a vice like hold, forcing the arm to falter in its downward motion and stop, not but a foot away from his nose. The crier's dead sprint had paid off because even though he failed in getting him with the knife, the full power of his body, running at tip top speed, blew into Silas' torso and carried them both out from the shadow of the pillar and into the light.

Roger bolted forcibly at the crier, making ready to pry him from Silas' form, which he violently clung to. But their bodies had carried too far away from him, given the ferocity of the crier's attack, and after they had flown through the air they lay struggling mutedly on the stony, pebbly ground.

Roger, with little consideration, had stepped full into the light of the dark star, and as he closed the distance to Silas, prepared to make the fight a one-sided occasion, he froze dead in his tracks and resolutely held his ground, raising his forearm to cover his brow and shield him from the light, his legs locked as though by the force of fate.

The dark star had emitted one great pulse of light and then dimmed, shuddering off a tiny blast wave that swept at the fog and blew back what little grass their was. It was hot, and as the surface of the star became murky and clouded he felt an unreal, vivid nausea, almost level him flat. And yet, he noted, Silas fought the good fight, rolled and grappled, wrestled and parlayed. With the rising temperature and the shifting delirium of his mind he knew at once that if he was to survive, if Silas was to survive, than he must take cover. In a staggered rush he made his way back to the pillar where minutes before had been the perfect platform from which to mount an attack, and slowly lowered himself to the ground, his legs nearly giving way beneath him.

Turning with the little bit of bravery left without bruise in his aching, screaming bones, he watched on dumbly, wishing that he could do for Silas what had once been done for him, but was pinned by the logic that told him 'To live, or to die'.

Silas, after having flipped and spun in the dirt with the crier, who was as strong as a stubborn mule, never relinquished his hold on the man's forearm, and he paid a heavy toll for it. Blows fell thickly on his face and torso from the crier's free left hand, and as Silas thought to grab that too, to hold it for life and liberty, for Mary, he saw only that then the crier would be able to mount him and he would be pinned underneath his weight. True, the crier was not stocky, or all that heavy, but it was a position he would rather not be caught in.

Futile instinct won out anyway over the subtle singular breath of logic he had just endured and he seized the crier's left forearm to stop the striking blows. It worked, but as predicted the crier now sat atop his chest and Silas lay on his back looking upward in into the heart of the dark star, seeing it change and dim, blackening.

The blackening stopped, and it switched back to its familiar purple effervescence, though it was significantly dampened, as if no longer willing to share its light.

Silas felt the sweeping front of sickness and malfeasance flood into every seeping hole of his body, his eyes enraptured, and though the crier seemed not to have felt it, as his body shuddered ecstatically from the spine, Silas realized that the man atop him was deeply enmeshed in its destiny. Silas was weakening, but in one last desperate burst of will he began forcing bridges in his mind, to reconsolidate his body, and it worked.

Pebbles began to shift across the bed of the basin, gravitationally drawn to the dark star's center point, a hot breeze sucked passively inward. Silas didn't have time for this nonsense, he thought, as he rolled himself and the crier, breaking away from him and gaining enough time to stand tall on his two spellbound feet. Without hesitation he kicked the blade out of the crier's hand as he sorted himself out on the ground. Silas, cut off from Roger by the strident body of the crier with his back to the vast bulk of the dark star, began to reconsider his plans and rated escape as his last and only option.

But in the moment of rationalization the crier had sprung to his feet and lurched forward with a driving uppercut that Silas nimbly dodged. With four feet of space between the two of them both Silas and the crier, his back to Roger who hid noiselessly, faced each other with clenched fists near their hips and popping veins bulging from their foreheads. Silas face was drawn and haggard, panicked by fierce urgency, and the crier's eyes burned with an otherworldly light, his mouth set in a faint grin.

There was no point in being afraid any more, of cowering, or running, or in trying to hide, and as the crier advanced step by step toward him, Silas walked to meet him. They blended at the midway point in a flurry of jabs and punches, which they both tried to duck and dodge.

Silas struck the crier one solid blow to the chin with his closed fist, twisting his distorted face, only to land another onto his abdomen, and another onto his arm. Falling back momentarily the crier fought to keep his balance. He was dizzy and Silas could see it, certain that with a few more shots like those his enemy would be felled. With other things in mind the coarse crier forced himself on Silas defensive body, madly, carelessly, swinging and whipping his fists, driving through to Silas ribs which were becoming rapidly sore.

The queasiness was getting worse by the second for Silas and he was left with no other option than to back off. By now he could see loose gravel and small stones, as well as dust and small debris, rising inexorably into the air directly beneath the girth of the dark star which was where he was being forced. Their lazy pilgrimage skyward, he noted in a brief second of rest, was met with as spark and a fizzle as they came into contact with the surface of the dark star, where he presumed they burned out.

The pull was getting stronger, harder, and he could feel that it was even more so the closer he got to being unswervingly below the purple mass's center. He didn't wonder at all what it would feel like to be caught in the sinkhole of the star's tug, and he silently prayed that the crier had not been planning that, keeping that in store for him.

He backed away from the advancing crier slowly. The pull of the dark star was becoming entirely too strong and he could feel himself loosing weight, becoming massively lighter, parts of him floating upward. He needed to act now, and so he did with deliberation and fortitude. Rushing around the arm span of the crier he made for the further edge of the dark star where they had started, near Roger. The crier laughed raucously and took Silas' retreat to mean that he had already won, would already win, as he recovered his knife from the hot, softening dirt, bleeding at the lip.

"So you want to dance?" shouted the crier, lost to his mania.

Silas made no move to answer him, but kept his eyes on him at all times as he backed toward Roger.

"Roger!" Silas shouted. "Make ready to leave. We are far past the due point."

But the crier heard and bounded toward Silas in swift smooth strokes.

"What's the matter? Is your king to feeble to fight as a man? "

Silas waited for the perfect moment, when the crier had become near enough, and caught a hold of a stone that was drifting across the ground, heaving it directly at the crier's face, who deftly deflected it with his dagger as it flew toward him and pinged off the steel, carrying a long way before being caught in the slipstream and climbing upwards with out ever touching the ground again.

Silas and the crier clashed with the crier taking a hold of Silas and spinning his weakening body so that he was once again separate from Roger. Then the pummeling began, quick and ruthless, as both Silas and his nemesis boxed against one another. Silas stood little chance now that the crier once again had his knife, and his clutch on it was deathly. The crier stabbed blindly at Silas who refused to give ground, but was all too aware of the fact that he would die if he stood firm.

"You will pay for what you have done!" shouted Silas above the melee, sickened.

He had once again been maneuvered to the very spot he feared, beneath the full mass of the dark star, unarmed and fainting gradually, feeling vile tendrils groping his mind and soul.

Just as he thought he was sure to collapse, when the crier had once more charged the distance between them and wrapped himself fully up in Silas, Silas bit his arm that held the blade. Blood poured from the crier, who cried as he had never done, and still he would not relinquish the blade. That was until Silas bit him a second time, closer to his warped, but still beating pulse.

Thinking this to be his last opportunity Silas punched his face like an animal, receiving the same love in return. Silas' legs finally gave way and as he expected to strike the ground he only tumbled weirdly, suspended in mid air and rising, with the crier holding him by the leg and pummeling.

Roger watched and stood, mortified and amazed. Thinking as best he could, he saw at once that Silas had become too weak under the direct influence of the dark star to survive defending himself and did what he thought best.

Running forward Roger halved the distance between himself and the two combatants, losing almost half his body weight in the process. Seeing that he could go no further, he called out in desperation.

"Silas!" Silas looked to him, as if through a hazy lense, and looked carefully.

"Catch!" screamed Roger, trying to be brave. Roger's arm, holding his precious sword, jerked back and launched the glittering gold, jewel, and steel, through the air. Instead of throwing it upward, as it would have been certainly caught in a gravitational draft, he threw it downward toward the ground with such great momentum that it nearly overcame the upward thrust of the dark star. But it did not, instead, inches away from the gritty turf, it arced upwards with a new trajectory and increasing velocity, spinning and rotating through the currents of wind, right into Silas' waiting arms.

Silas had never been a man that great of skill, but today fortune favored him as he tiredly reached out and drew the hilt into his chest. As the crier climbed up his leg, like a rope to heaven, Silas took a moment to examine the master craftsmanship that had gone into the sword. The talent, the artistry, neither were lost to him, as he used the last bit of his flexion and strength to wield the sword as it was meant to be wielded, and to swing it at the crier.

Chapter Thirty-One

Whirring through the parched, heated air, golden metal and steel made a solid and resounding connection to flesh, shattering the crier's collar bone. Before he could even yelp or scream out in pain the crier had been run through, impaled in a second stroke, by the sword of the king he had once sought to kill. Silas meant to pull the blade free of the crier's chest cavity and strike the third and final blow, but he was too weak, too disoriented, and in the confusion, as the crier let go of his leg while bleeding and glazing over, Silas closed his eyes for a vital moment with a tear peeling down his cheek, calling for him to decide what to do next. When he opened them he saw only himself suspended in the air and the body of the crier, panting and breathing as heavily as he could, clinging to life, hovering upward at his feet. Droplets of blood meandered lazily through empty space, and in Silas' mind what he was about to do, choose to do, was all that was left to him.

Bracing himself and scrunching in a spring charged ball as near to the crier's fading body as he could manage Silas planted his reluctant feet into the crier's torso and pushed himself toward the dark star above him with all his might. The crier spun wildly earthward for a time, as Silas, his body like a stretched string bean behind him and his neck craned upwards, flew decisively before the crier's downward tilt gave way to a gradual rising and cresting once more skyward.

Roger witnessed the ordeal and cheered in silence while the crier's life expired and his corpse was left to drift through the air with the sword visible in both his chest and out through his back until, he surmised, the body would eventually come into contact with the dark star.

The growing purple mass before Silas' face grew in enormity until it took up all of his vision. Silas hardened his mind, reminded himself that it had, at the last breath of the crier, been his choice to come in contact with the dark star, and that final choice might yet save him. He would have to fortify himself, use his mind to build those bridges, and hope that his natural strength would allow him to survive. Feeling the air blowing by him, rippling across his streamlined body, Silas struck the dark star head on without even raising a hand to defend himself and disappeared in a flash and shower of purpled radiant sparks.

Roger still stood in place, bracing himself against the strengthening pull, and saw with surprise and hope as Silas drove himself into the star and the dead crier rose after him. He hadn't been prepared for the moment of contact, in which Silas was sucked into the sifting mass of evil stationed overhead. Beyond that, the instant that Silas' body had disappeared, the artificial pull dissipated and small stones, pebbles, dust, and grit, began to shower down from where they had hung levitated in the air, clattering across the ground.

Silas was almost a forgotten memory to Roger in that moment, as he watched the dead body of the crier with a deafening curiosity. He wanted more than anything to retrieve his sword, to be reunited with his work, which he was now sure some of his soul must have spilled over into. For a second's respite the limp body of the crier hung in the air, then fell a long way down to the earth where it bounced and rolled, broken and overwhelmed.

Roger sprinted over to him and surveyed him. He was gone, there could be no doubt of that, as his eyes, one closed and the other ogling stupidly, looked on. Within a second he had pulled his sword free and was wiping it on the ground to cleanse it of its blood when he saw a man approaching him. As the man came closer, and Roger stared at him to gain some sense or recollection of who he was, it soon became clear that he was dealing with Jasper. Roger began walking to meet him and they looked one another over, Roger tired and worn, Jasper youthful and energetic.

"It is done, then." claimed Jasper with a peculiar joy.

Roger leaned on his sword, relieving himself of some of his weight.

"Of what do you speak, Jasper? It has just begun. Silas has made contact with the dark star, something we all know better than to do, and it falls to him to survive himself , and to us to mount a rescue."

"That won't be necessary."

Roger was perplexed, and Jasper had picked up on the obviousness of it, seeing how his face contorted. Although Jasper did not mention it, it brought him great pleasure.

"What do you mean? Silas saved my life, you must care for him. We were simply following through on the trust we built with you, coming to investigate."

"I apologize to you, Roger, you did not need to be involved, didn't need to see this, but it has all gone according to my plan."

"Your plan? Are you mad? What do you know, what have you seen thus far?"

"You should know; I was watching the whole ordeal from a safe location not too far from here. I also allowed the crier to find you."

Roger had the look of a man betrayed more deeply and more times than could be counted.

"I never cared what you thought anyway." Roger spat. "You monster, you are just like that vile Praetor, or Sovereign, or whatever he calls himself now."

"That's right Roger, feed you anger, embrace it."

"Never!" Roger shouted crazily. "You will not bar my nature to me! Now will you help me or not? Are you for me, or against me?"

""You already know the answer to that. I too seek the annihilation of the dark star, but then you see it. Yes, you already know." Jasper studied the ever changing face of Roger to detect the subtle changes taking place beneath the surface, gloating in the bruised ego of the once king.

"You see," continued Jasper, as though nothing at all were wrong, "the disease that allowed me to use the technology I had been finding also crippled me in a way I have already told you of, changed my fundamental nature. And you know that I was unable to join with any more Genesis stars, a punishment that I was willing at first to accept, but now am loathe to consider. Clearly, then, it was all a matter of time before I considered the possibility of whether or not the dark star, being a Genesis star by nature, but fundamentally altered, like me, would be able to set me straight, to cure me."

"And just why would you need that?"

"The secret of eternal life was so close to me, almost within my grasp, had I waited longer and surveyed more Genesis star's I would have been sure to find it. But now, though I have incredible long life, am doomed to an eventual death, one that the dark star might aid in preventing."

"But why Silas, why him? What has he done to deserve any of this suffering? What are you doing to him?"

"Silas was just a matter of convenience, a wealth of energy that I discovered through you. Had he not been there to save your life, a feat of greatness that revealed to me at once that he was more than he seemed, I might not have known him. I saw the opportunity to cooperate with the dark star, in a manner of speaking. To get what I need. I was looking for someone to assassinate you when I stumbled across the crier, perfect for the job. But who could have known that he once knew Silas, was likely heavily under the influence of the dark star? It all fell into place, it was decided…"

"You monster!"

"After seeing that you would eventually journey to the dark star, for you have a transparent way about you, I knew at once to lead the crier, the man who fired the arrow at you, here, to finish what had been started. I knew that he likely wouldn't kill either of you, let alone you both, but in this close a proximity to the dark star, one of you would fuse with it, most likely Silas."

"And what could that do for you?"

"I could never risk fusing with the dark start out right, but I would need to know what would happen to a human if it did. Silas was the perfect candidate. And now you see what I have done, what I have accomplished. If he even lives to see the light of another day, I will take him and provide for him, study him. With this new man we may even discover a way to destroy the dark star, learn its secret. So you must choose, will you help me? It is what is best."

"You will have your day."

"Don't be so negative, I still must reveal to you the location of a hidden Genesis star, so that you might find someone to learn its way and combat the dark star; this one, I am sure holds the key to its defeat. Make no mistake, though it could help me, it still must be eliminated if I am to see my dream come to fruition."

"Don't allow this to happen! If I must I will kill you!."

"My power is far beyond yours, even though you may have learned to bridge many gaps with your mind."

"What you say is true, but one way or another, Silas will have his revenge."

"Given what I am doing, the good, Silas will not want any revenge. You of all people should see that! Your empire is now a stable democracy, even though there were a few bumps in the road."

"Tell me, were you always loyal to the Praetor?"

"My bond is not easily broken, and it was to him that I owed my initial allegiance, not you! And you should know, I have never been a favorer of tyranny, especially not the likes of which you had run. I suggest you listen up and find a Genesis star, if you are to help Silas."

"I would never fuse myself, or meld myself, with any other entity. Your words fall on willingly deaf ears. I will do as I see fit, I will journey back to Verlan and at the very least I will have the chance to gain favor, as I once held."

Even as he spoke, he knew that it could not be true, that he would have to bow to the wishes of Jasper. Having seen the dark star first hand he could only hope that a Genesis star represented the lighter side of this morbid reality.

"Hahaha! You think that at all possible? Though I have not told the Sovereign that you still live, if it suited me, I would not hesitate to do so. Now listen, in the ruins of this foggy metropolis there are many gateways, tunnels to other worlds. Through one of these passages you will find a foreign land where resides the Genesis star that I speak of, but the road there is sure to be filled with peril, likely wrought by the dark star. I could even accompany if you like, I see no real reason for any bitterness to endure…"

"You know what I will do. I will wait here for Silas, as he would do for me. I will try at the very least to contrive some method of freeing him. He is too valuable to me."

"And how can you, the king, know for certain that he is not part of this conspiracy that seems to turn up against you everywhere? Surely, if I can be so selfish, could not he?"

Roger was driven to blinding anger and lifted his sword in rage, stabbing it into the dirt and leaving it to stand alone, without his loving touch.

"Don't speak as if you know me, or Silas for that matter. You sow only the seed of deceit, you devil, you false arbiter. You could have been so beautiful to me, to everyone, to anyone, but you have chosen the way of the self. May you die disgraced and alone, or live on in suffering."

"Still I stand."

Roger walked away, plucking his sword from the dirt and carrying it with him.

"My offer still stands!" his court jester shouted after him.

"I will go nowhere without Silas!" he called back.

There was only darkness, full and abiding.

Silas, weak and flittering on the border of consciousness, could barely remember what had happened as he moved slowly toward something he could not define. His muddled thoughts told him that he had been floating, fighting, and they tried to tell him to seize hold of his nature, his true nature, and wield that as the new sword, like the one he had use to kill the crier.

Yes, the crier. The thought did ring a bell, sounded familiar tones in his aching skull. The last he saw of him he was a shattered flesh, desperate to live, considering only how like a god he had become even as his life force terminated. And it had been he that finished him; Silas, now a killer. He solved his own conflicts now, or so a growing voice told him.

But he could not allow that to be real, to be his reality; he was no killer, only a boy lost in love. Tender spots in his mind lit up, tears began streaming down his face, and then his motion came to an abrupt halt.

Now he remembered it, now he knew it all, as if it had been years ago, but it had only been moments. He had chosen this for himself, decidedly went charging into the unknown, right at the dark star. Better this than confronting the life of a killer he would have faced, even if he had managed to get to the ground after what had happened.

But it was necessary. He held no illusions; he cleared his mind, as a force surged through and round his body locking him in a vertical spread eagle stance, his palms open, arms in a wide embrace, legs slightly apart. Through the darkness he knew one thing; this was the beating heart of the beast, and he would hold his own.

Things began to happen so quickly, he couldn't be sure of anything anymore. He knew that he was being probed, he felt the same indolence he had felt on those occasions when he had dreamed and he set his very being to resist.

A universe came before his eyes with myriads of stars and galaxies, which he somehow came to understand for what they were. He flew past stars of burning gas and fusion, blazing brightly against the nihilism of open space, of fate and soldering destiny, and he saw their form and knew, as he had never known before.

Then, in full glory, symbols, so like those he had seen on the surface of the dark star, began to flow and twirl before his eyes, wrapping themselves around his exposed flesh and wriggling into him, beneath the skin and muscle, nerve and bone, mind, and then soul. They were more corrosive than anything he had ever encountered, though they did not damage him, he blindly saw them as they were, his vision brightening and fading blithely.

There was erasure, and all to the face of Mary, her badly burned body translucently visible before him as he sailed the vastness of the cosmos. He could barely contain the emotion spooling in him, but deep inside his eternal core, where the true secret of his being lay, he measured and resolved himself, gridlocked himself, and struggled no matter that he was overwhelmed.

Atoms, electrons, photons, gravity, magnetism, it seemed as though nothing was kept a secret too him, all encrypted onto his soul through the strangeness of the marks. The longer this happened, the greater his thirst became. He could not take in enough of this new reasoning, this substrate to his consciousness, this eternal choice, chance, opportunity.

This retiform.

Drifting openly, catching hold of every new idea like fish in the seas, exploring, recounting what was already known to him, sucking in everything until there was nothing left, not even light, he was once again left in darkness.

Having seen almost everything there was to see, having absorbed the knowledge that the dark star had seen fit to transfer to him, the imprint began. His brain and its emotion, which he had known right down to the atom, as the dark star had, right down to near every bridge of mind and philosophy that could exist for it, quaked within. In his thoughts he told himself over and over again, 'I am Silas, I am Silas…' and as the progression continued and his identity was taken from him it became 'I am, I am…' which resounded across a million million eternities, encapsulating his meek, feeble spirit and preserving it.

Calling every relevant ounce of deception he could muster, he allowed the imprint to continue as if he were no more, watching, waiting. He would soon have his time, would resurrect himself from the resonance of a thousand smiles and kisses, he would not forget nor be forgotten. The dark star intensified its efforts, as if it knew the seed of Silas was somehow surviving, holding over until it could be resown in the world waiting below him, strung just beneath his feet. He couldn't count the time as it passed, there was no way for him to know anything anymore, his brain had been reduced to mush and reshaped like clay, but still his soul held.

It had been an eternity before the dark star gave up. Even though no part of him was left untouched, each and every atom and particle had been reconfigured to the likeness of the dark star's whims, his eternal secret had lived on, and when his body had been abandoned, floating still, it returned to him full force and reassured him, undid what could be undone and gave him his name once more.

And again, he remembered everything. He was Silas again, but now instead of darkness, upon the dark star recognizing that Silas' foundation could not truly be upheaved, showed him the world instead. For him it was like being trapped at the center of a glass orb, where he looked outward from the center, barely able to move his eyes and head to see what was there. He could see many of the physical mechanisms of the dark star, made from their purple circuits of light and dust, between himself and the ground which remained constant dozens of yards below him. From the center of the dark star everything was tinted that effulgent color that had comprised its surface, even though one way or another everything now appeared to be see-through.

Even the world.

As the words 'I am Silas, I am Silas' repeated indefinitely in his head the melody suddenly began to shift, and Silas knew that something had changed. He was still the same Silas, and that was what mattered most to him, but there were differences of intricacy unmatched that he suspected would never be the same again. He still fumbled in his mind for what had been altered, and even with his new knowledge he could not quite put his finger on it.

The words in his mind lengthened and attenuated and soon he was listening to the song of his being, of all the thoughts he had ever had coursing through him, and some else wise. By now all the words and statements and sentences and phrases he had ever known were simultaneously emanating in his mind and he focused on the word 'Hope, Hope, Hope' as it continued its eternal resonance, filtering through his body and skin until it bled into the dark star, which loosened its grip on him.

His arms were free, and then his legs and he was left to float there, fully mobile, no longer weak but as energized as a bolt in flight. He felt new power within himself and spun around to look at the world through the confusion of his prison, and he felt fear, seeing the ruins. He knew of that civilization now, of their triumphs and their glories, he also felt the power to be gained from their fall and all the philosophical bridges that had emerged concurrent. It was tasty to his new bones, but he drove out that will, the one who told him to feast on the weak, on those undefended as never before.

He began to fall, and as he did, his body once more subject to the natural law of gravity, he saw only that he had won. As he dove through the dark star's depths, bursting through its innards and striking its membrane, he braced himself for the clear air and light of the sun.

Free at last, his form rotating wildly as it dropped, his only concern was living through this fall, shooting out of the dark star's lean underbelly. Silas could see the ground below him getting ever larger, its brown and green growing quickly, and then the shrinking bulk of evil that cascaded and hovered in the air above him.

With a violent thud and crack he landed directly on his head and neck, his body crumpling over on itself, the gears in his mind still churning furiously. He was still alive, and miraculously, as he sorted himself out and got to his feet, he saw that he was fully healthy and uninjured. He needed only to dust himself off, which he did with his empty hands, and then find Roger. He could tell that he was not far off, and he began to notice his sharpened senses and heightened alertness. Looking in the dirt he found the king's footsteps, a power that he had never possessed before, and began to follow them. He noticed a second pair shadowing them and surmised that it could only be Jasper, as no one else could have possibly known to have been here at the same time as them, or have had the means to do so. Besides, the crier's wasted form lay unarranged in the distance, no longer a living breathing threat to anyone.

Silas weighed his thoughts and options, then walked off to find Roger and whoever was with him. As he did, he probed at his new self only to discover that his soul had been exceedingly useful; all that he had been survived and to say the least, he had merely been gifted with power beyond his natural comprehension.

Chapter Thirty-Two

A jet of flame shot from the massive beast's mouth, its wings flapping derisively in the great hall of a cavern that Roger believed led to some alternate world or dimension, one that Jasper had told him would lead to a Genesis star, and to the reclaiming of Silas. Roger hefted his sword and ran around the side of the creature in a great swooping circle, hoping to keep a steady distance from its vengeful raking claws, teeth, flame, and many tonned body. He ran the risk of being crushed at the very least as he tried to offer a relevant distraction for Jasper to capitalize on.

The two of them were well inside the cavern, the light of the sun distant but visible, and though everything was illuminated it was still dim and humid. There was a stink of foul gas and odor, like bog land or marsh, along with some familiar burning smell. Large rocks lay all over, more visible with each furnace hot blast of flame that was eschewed from the beast as large as a four story building, the very same beast that Roger had been forced to envision once in a chapel. He was almost more afraid than he had ever been, but he tried to share in the hope and confidence that with the help of Jasper they could vanquish it.

"So," shouted Jasper to Roger as he sent golden lightning into the beast, stunning it, "this is the beast forced on your mind, created by the dark star for you and you alone. It must have known that you were coming, and sought to pit you against it. If we work together we will live. This dragon can be burst asunder, and we will be the ones to do it!"

In his last cry he pushed his hands forward in the air, shooting a brighter more lasting bolt that forced the dragon to rear and turn its head. Though its skin was scaled, tough, and leathery, it showed only that it was fully vulnerable to whatever Roger and Jasper had in store for it. Roger had snuck around back of it when it retrained its attention on Jasper and thought to strike at its massive tree trunk of a tail as it swung eclectically through the warm air, but knew it would be dangerous and ineffective. Instead, he remembered Silas and the principals by which he managed to defeat something wild that had out classed him. Roger ran up to its flank near its hind legs, just as it had stopped shifting and moving the weight of its body, then stabbed his sword as deep into its flesh as he could, as high above his head as he could, and then used the blade planted in its side to climb up onto it, higher and higher.

He clung to the dragon's scales for dear life and pried his weapon loose, jamming again into the dragon's flesh over his head, using it as a platform once again to climb. The beast seemed not to notice or care, as though the metal were a mere pinprick. Roger quickly made his way fully onto the dragon's back and stood on the flexing spine, running along it at as fast a gait as his balance would allow.

Just as the fire breathing dragon was about to rear up and pitch Roger twenty or so feet through the air he leapt sword in hand and drove it into the scale covered stinking neck where he clung to it with both hands as the creature moved about. Having reared, with Roger hanging onto his hilt deep in its flesh, his legs dangling beneath him, he started to climb again, bravely, using the same method as before. Jasper on the ground seemed to be loosing his flare and now dodged flame and claw slashes, frantic to live.

Roger made his way all the way to the top of the beast's long neck, to where its mammoth head was. Climbing atop it the dragon swung its head violently back and forth, with Roger's frail form glued to it. In the moment of prospect, Roger took his sword and drilled it through one of the beast's eyes, and then the other, blinding it.

Blood showered over him and pulp dribbled from the sockets. As the drenched Roger was thrown from its bucking head, covered in the sap of its life, he twisted through the air and flew ungraciously, landing hard on rock and stone, rolling, across the floor, breaking his leg and screaming in pain. Luckily he had not lost consciousness, as he still had no trust for Jasper, and would have been a dead duck right there waiting for the dragon if he were to be abandoned. Even if it were blind it likely possessed a keen sense of smell.

Convulsing and writhing in the dim light of the disgusting cavern, that he was certain would lead to another world, one of opportunity and chance, he curled up and gripped his shattered leg as if to numb the searing agony. For Jasper, seeing the blind flopping beast, this was all the occasion he would need. He was enough of a match for the dragon, with his powers, so long as it could not fully concentrate on him, but he hadn't had the time to power himself to the point that he could deal a fatal blow. He locked his fingers like claws and cupped them against each other in the air in front of his chest where a gyrating, swirling, crackling ball of light gathered, lightning from his palms sporadically striking it.

One minute had gone by, the two, then three.

Then four.

He was ready. Holding the charge in his palms he looked at the dragon still thrashing, wanting to connect with something solid and mobile that it could render inert. But without any visual recognition it was helpless and easily defeated.

Jasper turned his open palms directly toward the crippled beast and shot the bolt at the speed of sound directly in to its chest, blasting and burrowing into its heart. When the light ball made contact with its flesh there was a bright muted explosion, the shockwave of which Roger could feel from twenty five yards away. He was nearly blinded, but he forced himself to watch as lightning materialized in the air around the point of impact, striking at random, and the ball forced its way through the thing's chest. Roger was horrified as it found its heart, exploded at final moment in another brilliant muted blast, blowing it beating organ to vapor. Within seconds the dragon wailed its final inhuman wail, roaring, and then died, blood spilling out onto the rough stone ground, saturating it.

Jasper was out of breath and Roger was out of commission, but they both rejoiced at being alive. Despite the pain and misery Roger lifted himself onto his one good leg, even though the whole of his body was grossly sore, and dragged himself over to his golden edged sword, picking it up and leaning on it.

Just to prove his point, that he could not be bested by anything the dark star could contrive, not even if it came from his own mind, he staggered his way over to the dragon's massive dead body and positioned himself right by its head, near its base where it met the neck. Even though his right leg was gimp and wrecked, he lifted his sword in both hands over his head and hacked down at the neck as many times as it would take until it severed.

He couldn't do it, the dragon was just too large, its bones to well formed and its flesh and muscle to thick. Realizing this he left his blade lodged in its neck and turned to look for Jasper to check and see if he was still capable of carrying them both onwards, or even skilled enough to heal him.

Instead he saw a silhouette against the light of the sun at the entrance to the cavern striding boldly forward, but unidentifiable in the light contrast. The figure grew closer as its shadow on the ground disappeared in the dimness of the cave; Jasper noticed him also.

It was Silas.

"Bravo, bravo…" he said placidly, clapping his hands and advancing.

"But…How?" asked Roger. "You were seized, caught up in the dark star."

"I chose to go, and that has made all the difference."

"Silas!" shouted Jasper, doubled over in exhaustion. "Surely I am saved! What has happened? You must tell me everything! We have the chance to work together here, to get what we all desire! To eliminate the dark star!"

"Don't listen to him, Silas!" Roger called, disheveled. "He is a liar, he did this to you! He wanted you to be fused to the dark star, he led that vile assassin to you in these ruins. He knew this would all come to pass, to him you are an experiment, a mere chance at eternal life!"

But Silas seemed not to care. He was now near enough to see the condition that they were in.

"What happened to you, Roger?"

Then Silas noticed the sword in the half hewn off head of the dragon and understood. Walking calmly, in full control of himself, over to the hilt of the sword he lifted it out of the seeping flesh wound Roger had created and lifted it over his head, swinging it downward with inhuman strength, lopping the dragon's head off in one smooth clean stroke. Sparks flew up as the metal scratched the ground and the dragon's decapitated head rolled, tongue lolling.

"You wield that sword as was meant to be." said Roger, amazed. "How… why?"

"I survived, but in the process the dark star forced itself on me and I contain awareness of realities I care much less for than this one. But I am not broken. Let me see your leg, Roger."

Roger had little choice but to oblige and shifted his weight so that Silas had a clear full view. Silas gripped the thigh with both hands and strings of peeling light, purple and opalescent, glowed while marks appeared. The shattered limb jerked and contorted well beyond Roger's typical range of motion and then reset itself, as though nothing had ever happened. Roger screamed in pain, not a physical one, but a spiritual turmoil, as though he had touched that which he could never bear to witness. Looking down to his leg and moving his clothing out of the way he saw that his skin tone was slightly altered and though his leg worked perfectly, if anything it was stronger, faster, it was now different, forever.

"Where are we headed?" asked Silas.

"Aren't you at least worried about what I told you? About Jasper?" asked Roger disparate.

"Worried? " cut in Jasper. "Why would he be worried? Look past your pale and ailing flesh and see what we can accomplish! Together! He knows now the power at stake here, the survival of his immortal soul, eternal life. Sacrifices, when necessary, must be made Roger. As one whose name was once King and to whom was given legions you of all people must still see. Surely that has not been lost to you!"

"But your nature is no different than that of a sporting killer, Jasper! With eternal life and your nature, true in its own way, you could only and eventually destroy something beautiful, spread a nothingness. Your means to motive prove that you will never change beyond that, evolve into something worthy of the sacrifice, not that I even believe it was needed. I see only that you were too weak in your resolve, in your searches, to consider the vast ocean of possibilities as they lay and instead chose the path of least resistance to your soul so that you and you at least and alone would profit like some fount of a new genesis."

Roger's anger and annoyance grew as he spoke and he was tempted to demand Silas aid in clarifying that under no circumstances would Jasper receive any help in learning the dark star's secrets, but Silas only listened. Roger looked to him and saw through the unnatural glow that on his face and in his mind he might righteously be considering the offer of the fool jester.

Roger was furious but could do nothing.

"Supposing," said Silas with an eerie resilience, "that this all becomes possible, should I submit to your aid an authority, Jasper. What then? Would you hoard the mechanisms of your new gift, or would you share it freely with only those by nature deserving?"

Jasper saw his chance, his wide and golden window of opportunity and made as if to seize it, his full being perking at Silas' statement.

"Why… I… I…" fumbled Jasper over his words, wanting to say more than he could communicate. "I think that could work, I see no reason to deny the fruited masses their dreams… We could change everything! There would be no reason for anything unwanted, like death, we could have it all!"

Silas stopped dead in his tracks, and Roger and Jasper were soon to follow. Silas moved in front of Jasper, to block his way, towering over him. Roger felt a certain pride at seeing his best friend finally representing his emotion.

"And yet for all the good I see in you, you betrayed me." said Silas with dereliction.

Jasper saw the flicker of anger in Silas eyes and sought to cower, but held his own trying to look bold and sharp.

"You still need me." he stammered. "Without me you will not find a Genesis star in time, you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Tell me," said Silas aggravating his voice, "did you ever consider that I might have gained the ability to pluck such information from your mind when I chose my fate within the dark star?"

Jasper was horrified and all the color drained from his face in the dim light of the cavern.

"But…" began Jasper.

Silas let the anger fade and put a hand on the shoulder of Jasper to mollify him, smiling wisely.

"I didn't, and I suppose that is all that you need to know."

Roger, still confused, accepted that the quest must continue, that for everyone's sake, the dark star needed to be stopped. The trio began walking once more, but now in absolute silence, to the far end of the cavern.

"See!" said Jasper pointing to an obscurity of light at the end of a tunnel that from one perspective appeared to be a dead end, but when approached head on showed only a supple world with lively green trees and leaves swaying in the breeze. They all saw that the sun was bright on the other side.

Getting closer to the gateway Roger could see that the edges were swirls and eddies of light, the very basis of reality, twisted to create a hole in the air that was meant to be traversed.

"And here we are." said Jasper, pleased that things were at least a little bit turning out in his favor, with Silas and Roger in tow.

"In this great moment of crossing to a world fraught with the presence of comfort and civility eternal we must allow our selves never to forget that the crossing was made only to see a better reality at our source. The origin of our souls must not be forgotten. There is a place behind us, and a place before, do not hesitate to hope."

Silas spoke to the portal, his eyes trained on the other side, then he placed one firm leg through it and moved himself to the other side, remembering to hope, remembering that it was that which had saved him.

Roger and Jasper went through also, and they stood proudly on the other side ready to find a solution to the fog and the pain that shrouded everyone's future. They stood atop a ridge imbedded into a mountain side, all part of a mountain range that rolled across the horizon. The mountains and surrounding hills were covered with trees and plant life, the blue sky was filled with white cotton puffs of cloud that the sun hid behind from time to time. It was warm, uncomfortably so, but they were all glad to be away from anything to do with the dark star, be it the cavern of the dragon's lair, or the toxic fog and its ruins.

"What is our heading?" asked Silas.

"Well," said Jasper surveying the landscape, "the journey ahead of is not all that long and hard, we but have to cross through the land of the mole people, a subterranean race of creatures, intelligent but daft, that occupy these mountains, their mines, and a vast majority of the surrounding region. Then, we brave whatever comes our way and move along the edge of a vast desert, where it borders a jungle, and once we have found our way we will venture into the jungle to find the altar of the Genesis star, where it exists and resides."

"And you are sure," asked Roger in mock speculation, "that this will not all be for naught? I mean, you would never intentionally deliver us into the hands of some group or persons who would intentionally dissect or harm us?"

Roger held his arms wide apart and his palms up to the sky, wearing a saddened look on his face. Silas looked at him and shook his head in mild disappointment. Roger noticed.

"What? I am just asking the question, tossing that steak out there for the dogs."

"Well, when you put it that way… " said Jasper sarcastically.

"Right… that way… I could think of nothing better than having a demon like you peering over my shoulder at every odd second of the day." said Roger in retort.

"Move along!" said Jasper, goading them all. "We haven't got all the day long!"

The three of them began trooping off down the wide dirt path at Jasper's beckoning and under his leadership. Marching downward from the mountaintop they soon found themselves in a valley densely populated with tall green trees that saved them from the mortal peril of an afternoon sun. As they pushed out further and into the forest they began seeing large mounds of dirt ten feet high, piled all over the forest floor. Silas did not know what to make of it until he investigated one, moving up close to it, and then right on top of it. He could have sworn he had heard a clatter and a start followed by wild chattering, but he thought it best not to worry too much about it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Moving hastily from point to point among the trees, finding the shortest route they could to the Genesis star in the fastest amount of time proved more taxing than they all would have liked. Silas and Jasper had the advantage of their respective fusions, however Roger was left to hang high and dry. He was sweating profusely, cramping, and more than anything willing to complain, which for Silas' sake he kept to a bare minimum. He was as curious as anyone about the holes all over the place, and it seemed as though they couldn't travel a hundred yards without spotting at least three of them, but he corralled his vigor and did his best to remain determined.

The hot day wore on into a hot night, but they kept on the move, unwilling to forget the forces that drove them outward. It was late and humid, the canopy of the forest high over their heads and drowning out any star light. There did not appear to be any moon to speak of, which tickled Roger's nerves. He could have been anywhere, in Verlan with Sonia, but instead he was out in the wilderness of a foreign world making ready for bed, jammed between two astute masters of fate.

Even in his own mind now he was starting to become sarcastic. The heat was truly getting to him.

It was past midnight, and pitch blackness was all around them. They had the familiar talk about security and not lighting a fire and all that, but still, no one thought it best to post a night watch. Instead they all slumbered peacefully as if all the world could pass them by.

Roger had very little trust for Jasper, and a whole host of unanswered questions about Silas, but still he went straight to bed like the rest of them. Just to be on the cautious side, he slept as far from Jasper as possible, and as close to Silas as he could manage, snuggling up against a pile of leaves and a small rock.

In no time at all a few hours had passed and all was well within the mountainous woods.

A scrunched face and snout, pale and like the skin of an old man, wrinkly but still chubby and full, poked out of a hole in the earth. Climbing with its great large hands with fore claws, manual dexterity and small body, a little over half as tall as a grown man, it breathed fresh air. Soon its companions emerged, climbing to the top of the mound of dirt and rolling down its side. They loved the scent and taste of dirt and frolicked in the loose stuff as they tumbled down the soft slope to the tougher packed dirt, the ground of the outside world.

They seldom adventured from their underground tunnels, caverns and layers, which spanned countless miles and had taken centuries to build, but tonight they had felt the dirt resonance of intruders and wished to pay them a little visit to check up on them, to see if they were at all at odds with them.

Their eyesight was not so good, with their sockets shrouded by thick layers of foreskin, so they moved swiftly along the forest floor feeling through their palms with their powerful limbs propelling them at breakneck speed, until they could find the target of this escapade.

And there they slept, a naughty trio of trespassers humbly slumbering. The four mole people chattered softly among themselves, having sensed them through their deep breathing, then rushed up to them ready to haul them off one by one to stand trial before the Lord of the Moles. Getting as close as they liked to the form of Silas, the sound of his breaths sinister news to their small ears, they made as if to grab hold of him but stopped dead in their tracks as their hands and claws came within inches of his arms.

There was an emanation, something profoundly different about this creature, and they didn't like it. They were too afraid and so they let him be, chattering off to Jasper.

But they encountered the same phenomenon, only this time of a separate flavor and variety. Whatever these beasts were that had crossed into their domain, they were not to be touched or bothered with, at least that was until they met Roger. He slept soundly, as did the other two, but they did not feel the same rising of the hair on their flesh, the goose bumps or the urgency. He was a mere mortal, sweaty and wet, so the four of them crowded around him and seized hold of his limbs bouncing him away from the sleeping grounds.

At first Roger had no idea what was going on. He felt himself being half carried and half dragged along by some sort of chittering chattering beings that he could not see and make out for the life of him. He was still groggy and underprepared, and in his near useless state he determined that it was all likely that Jasper come to call in the darkness, killing him to have Silas all to himself. But as his eyes widened and he picked up speed he knew that it could not be.

Only when he disappeared down a hole, the wide variety of stars fading from view and cool air rushing in all around him did he realize that the mole people must have captured him, it was the only conclusion left to him, and not one that he readily embraced. Spirited away by a race of subterranean creatures was not Roger's idea of how things aught to have turned out, and in all probability none of his traveling mates would know anything of this until morning, and if he was still alive he would be long gone.

The transport from here to there, wherever that was, was long and jolting, giving Roger plenty of time to speculate about the intentions of his captors.

Would they be vengeful and angry, or nice and able to be reasoned with, bargained with perhaps? He had no basis for determining anything of the sort, but as the lightlessness deepened and the air became denser and cooler he listened to their back and forth, thinking that all for it they were not too dangerous sounding, but had a more excited ring to their ramblings than anything.

How could they determine where they were going? The thought rolled around his mind, reminding him that there were truly forces at work which, although they were to be questioned, would only provide him with half breasted answers. Many minutes later after flying through winding sloping tunnels and great dirt halls, maybe it had been an hour, maybe it had been two, he was dropped to the ground and cast aside. He could see nothing, but the feel of moist dirt beneath his palms and feet let him know at least that he must be far far beneath the earth's surface.

Hearing the mole people who had carried him, and they proved themselves not to have tired for there had been no slackening of their speed, scamper away and lock a gate, Roger felt around in shear terror for his life. This was the end, he told himself, no one would ever find his bones and the mole people would have whatever way they wanted to with him.

After a time he found the cold scornful iron of bars keeping him trapped in a cage of stone and metal. Maybe if he found some tool or worked at prying a bar loose, given enough time, he could tunnel free. But no, he told himself, there would be no chance of beating them at their own game. They must have been expert tunnel makers and would quickly discover the truth of what he was doing if ever he dared to try.

With nothing to gain or lose he began to fall back asleep on the cold dirt floor wishing that none of this had ever happened. Too bad he had not been sleeping with his sword, maybe then he would have had the opportunity to take it with him, as they had not bothered to search his person. That could have been a way out, but he was alone.

Full darkness enveloped him, the darkness of sleep.

Many hours later, he could not tell and did not even care to guess, a chattering mole person brought him fresh leaves to eat and a clay bowl of muddy water to drink. He couldn't tell if they were trying to joke with him or poison him, but as time passed he gave the leaves a little nibble, and the water a little sip. Later in what he was sure was the same day the cell door creaked loudly and then opened, several pairs of gruff arms hauling him out of his prison and carrying him off. He was taken down an extremely long corridor to what he came to suspect, after hearing reverberating echoes, was a massive cavern.

Roger was sure that this would be his final hour. There was no feasible reason for these creatures to have set a hand upon him unless they had some foul purpose of their own for his person. As he was forced to his knees by the mole people, their motions blunt and brutish, he envisioned himself in shackles, mining iron ore for these beings living off of their dirty water and withering away on a diet of leaf. And if it wouldn't be that than maybe they would feast upon his flesh, devour him, or serve him to their young.

But that didn't seem consistent with their vegetable diet, if that was even what they generally fed upon.

Roger, trying to reignite his feeling of bravery, began to rise to his feet from his knees, ready in total blindness to fight or address his captors. As he was mid way up to standing a heavy paw struck his collar with a violent crack, stunning him and dropping him to his knees once more. If that hadn't been bad enough he felt a mean spirited foot drive into his spine forcing him down on all fours.

There was a great degree of chattering and then one loud booming voice split the air silence the rest into reverberations. Roger, in his terror, could easily discern that the voice was now being directed at himself and wished only that he had some fluency in whatever speech the mole men were using. The booming voice paused, as if waiting for Roger to answer who could not and did not. One of the mole men closest to him barked something at him then prodded him hard in the ribs with a foot.

For Roger, as he spoke, it was all over.

"Fair creatures," said Roger hoping to be comprehended, "understand that I harbor no ill will against you. It was you that led me to this place, I did not stumble across it on my own. I would leave and never return if you would let me."

The voice that Roger had taken to be the head of the mole people chattered lividly once more and Roger was dragged forward toward what he assumed through motive of hearing was closer to the creature. Praying silently that his end would be swift Roger was startled by a bright flash of light that then waned to a dim energetic emulsion, as were the vast majority of the mole men. They all began to shout at once and ran helter skelter, leaving Roger unattended for the moment, and in a position to turn himself and look to see what had been the cause of this all.

It was none other than Silas, his savior, and the deceiving Jasper at his side. Upon his first and immediate glance Roger saw that it was Silas' body, his full being, emitting the light. It was not too bright but gave the humans a full view of their surroundings. The mole people seemed to have adapted to it showing full tolerance for some degree of illumination, and it was then that Roger began to suspect that they could fully operate in the sun.

The walls were nothing other than brown moist dirt with tapestries here and there, large and long hanging high on the walls of the cavern. Roger glanced at one and saw it depict some sort of harvest with a throned mole man looming over a mass of workers. It was then, as Roger turned his head to see what had been the source of the louder more assertive voice that he bore witness to the comical figure planted immovably on a polished silver throne mounted on a stone stage raised two feet or so above the floor. It was a wide throne, and it needed to be, for Roger saw that the crowned king of the mole people was a vast tub of gelatinous fat, rolling and jiggling as the mole man struggled to breathe. It was a wonder that such a creature, weighing at least six hundred pounds by Roger's estimate, was alive at all. It jowls hypnotically lapped up and down, its bulbous fat spilling over the armrests of the throne chair it sat in giving it the over all effect of a planet that seemed to be knocked from its orbit.

After listening to its chatter for a time Roger became clear on the fact that it must be a he and sprung to his feet, no longer willing to grovel in the dirt now that his rescuers were here. Unless they to had been captured, which he seriously doubted. While Roger fell back into formation with Silas and Jasper, Jasper now emitting a low golden glow as well, he could intrinsically feel the mole people's shock and fear, as they crowded round their king and his throne, through the scope of Silas energy.

"What have you become?" uttered Roger to Silas, but the mole people overheard and their king, jamming fruits and vegetables into his mouth from the various assortment at his disposal, began to speak.

"What that suppose to mean?" the plump and sweating creature asked with trepidation.

"I can understand you!" bellowed Roger in pure amazement. "But how?"

"Relax," cautioned Silas, "it is nothing more than a small power that I have used so that we all might understand one another. Try your luck with him."

With his confidence now restored Roger was more than a little angry that he had been stolen from the embrace of his companions.

"Say you," Roger pointed at the immobile king, its beady eyes widening in confusion, "Yes you tubby, the king! Why have you abducted me?"

"Why you trespass on sacred lands?" was the mole king's labored and slow response as he choked down a handful of green leaves.

"I did not know, otherwise we would have afforded ourselves some compromise. Will you leave us in peace?" Roger asked in an attempt to show a little more reverence.

The fat mole king seemed pleased with himself at Roger's suggestion of compromise.

"We brought here to show you true power of molemen! Then after you shown we let go, but could not hear each other talk good! So we were keep you here until you know!"

"That is all well and good, and now that we are aware of your misgivings, though we are peaceful, at least two of us," said Silas looking at Jasper peevishly, ready to leave, "we will take our friend and be going. Do not try to bother us, this has all been but a simple misunderstanding and we will not intrude upon you in the future."

With that Silas tugged Roger and Jasper, leading them away down a tunnel illuminated by his unnatural glow. The mole people watched and followed from a distance but never got too close, fearful of the strange presence they had encountered.

Twisting and turning, sloping and rising, the dirt tunnels cut into the earth eventually led them to freedom and stifling hot summer air, with no hassles. It was perhaps noonday and they were all ready to make as much haste as could be made.

"How did you two find me?" Roger asked flabbergasted.

"Don't look at me," suggested Jasper honestly, "without Silas here, whose abilities are far different from my own, though not by any measure more powerful, we would not have seemed to see exactly what had transpired when we woke in the morning."

"Yes," said Silas, "it was a simple matter once I realized that you were gone missing. There were tracks all over that I could clearly distinguish, and their languid scent led me directly to the hole you had been taken into. After that I used a knowledge of senses to lead myself to you, and not a moment to soon, though it took longer than I would have liked, stumbling lost through corridors at times. "

They never heard from the mole people again and were none the worse for it. Silas, Roger, and Jasper traveled fast and light living off the land day by day until they came to the edge of the expanse of sand that Jasper told them was simply the unnamed desert.

When they arrived, the jagged peaks of countless green mountains rolling on behind them and blue sky devoid of clouds before them, Roger and Silas, having never seen sand of this nature in their lives, stopped to feel it, allowing it to sift through gapped fingers and fall back to the turf. It was extremely fine and white, reflecting the brunt of the sun's brilliant glare and glittering at times, something of peculiar interest for them both. While they played with the stuff, running their hands and fingers through it finding it to be cooler than expected, Jasper stared out across the myriad of dunes with his hand shielding his eyes, thinking more practically of how they would manage to find water. Even though they were not going to cross the desert or even think of considering it, being at its edge and journeying along offered its own set of problems. Half the terrain would be uninhabitable and empty of anything they might find nourishing so as Jasper reasoned things it would be better to prepare for the absolute worst.

"Don't waste so much time you two. It's great that this is new to you all but we have somewhere to be." Jasper intoned.

"Thank you once again, honest Jasper, for your honest input on where we are honestly headed. What would we be without you?"

Despite his criticisms Roger got a move on and they continued as they had before.

The day lengthened and it became night, dark and arid. They slept on the bed of the forest floor, not even one hindered yards from the onset of desert, in peace and harmony until morning.

The remainder of the journey was the same, day in and day out they marched until Jasper noted that it was time to swing inwards through the thicket of jungle that had sprung up. Vines hung like ropes strung from the wide assortment of trees, and the humidity was nearly fatal, or so Roger told himself. Silas and Jasper proved only not to care, and showed that they could not be affected by it while Roger suffered under the insurmountable force of gnats and mosquitoes that crowded him at all times.

From time to time they saw exotic creatures, things of nature undiscovered. Nothing to large had come their way but some form of monkeys with feathered heads took a liking to them as they made their hasty way onward. Nearly three days into the jungle they at last came to it. A great clearing of grass, totally unnatural to the surrounding environment of jungle, flowers, and vines, and at its center was an apparent stone pyramid except instead of having a pointed triangular top it was sheared off and in its place a plateau atop which was a Genesis star, the first one Roger and Silas had ever seen. It shared the same dimensions as the dark star but it was golden and much closer to the ground than its evil counterpart had been.

They were all still very far away and could see it hovering there in full glory a the pinnacle of the sheared pyramid which was compact, steep, but not very tall at all. Silas and Roger made as if to run to it at a full steady gallop but Jasper grabbed them both by the arms.

"We wait until dark." was his only explanation.

Looking more confused than they felt Silas and Roger glanced quixotically at one another.

"Why dark?" asked Roger with uncontainable suspicion.

"We will give ourselves as much time as is needed to prepare our minds. We should be safe, though this is a great good it is still a power beyond our reckoning. Try at least to define yourself through those bridges of philosophy we had talked about. It will make you far easier understood, and seeing as no one here is to fuse with this star then it is best that we take as open minded an approach as possible."

Chapter Thirty-Four

Having waited and worked within the confines of their own minds to make peace with themselves, Silas offering more insight to Roger than he had ever dreamed, dramatically enhancing his potential while Jasper only listened in silence; the sky darkened. Roger sat in the grass, recounting internally all that had happened, the good fortune and the bad, living through everything again as Silas spoke informally, his voice carrying a heavy timbre that communicated directly with Roger's soul.

Then the time was upon them. The peach colored sky had translated itself into a dark blue and then black, the herds of star twinkling coming to life in near unison as the minutes passed, the only real light of merit other than the Genesis star. Its golden hue penetrated the darkness fiery and bright, shedding light on the field which the trio had now begun to cross. On its surface, as had been with the dark star, symbols raged and burned, appearing and disappearing, everything in sight tinted. These were more radical marks than had been on the surface of the dark star, friendlier, they could all tell simply by looking at them that they were more real.

The berth of the field had been crossed in the blinking of an eye as they strode boldly toward their goal. Now that they were so much closer, standing side by side at the base of the steep ancient pyramid, they could see that the stones themselves were older than dirt and covered in green growing moss and mold. The mortar had flecked and soured, peeling away from the cracks in between bricks leaving crevasses exposed. Upon their first glance and step up the pyramid they could not be sure whether or not the stair case would crumble under their footfalls. It did not, and they were pleased as they had never been before with the exception of Silas.

It seemed the closer he took himself to the Genesis star, and he grew larger upon it every second, the greater of a resistance he felt. He was not nauseous, as had been the case with the dark star, but he could sense a significant bulk of his existence being repulsed, held back, restrained. Wanting not to appear weak he held his gut with a palm and continued up the stairs until the three had reached the plateau and stood calm beneath the shade of golden hue. Silas breathing had turned heavy, Roger noted, but this was not the time to turn back.

Putting himself unabashedly before his comrades with one step forward, as close to the star as he could come without bumping his head, he prepared in his mind, under Silas' great tutelage what he had determined to be most true and needed, all the bridges and connections to be given unto its unrestricted mass.

"You are not bound by flesh as I am, whatever you truly are. I see that you can help me, us, to remove the thorn of reality stuck in my people's side." Roger spoke with candid annunciation as his open hand, its soft mellow flesh and stress lines, pressed up softly and then directly to the Genesis star's boiling underbelly.

Roger's forearm and hand took on a light of their own and his eyes were closed almost as if in prayer. He did not see the glow of his arm, but he surely felt it, as did the others. Miraculously, Silas and Jasper could feel everything that Roger felt, almost as if it was happening to their own bodies, and they convulsed in spiritual ecstasy as they took on a new robe of life.

Silas alone was impeded and fuzzy though he could feel the same perturbations as every one else. The things that had been done to him numbed him, made it difficult to have and to hold as had the others the same radical gravity that rippled through the plane of the soul. Feeling Roger's emotions, however weakly, was nearly the one something that could have caught him of guard. Seeing his true nature made whole by this entity of infallible magnitude was more than he could bear and his knees buckled, tears streaming down his face. The toll of the dark star was being paid as it tried to monitor his reality through his own mind, he now realized, though he effectively resisted. The feelings did not pass but the will of the Genesis star extended itself more fully into his being.

Roger standing with redoubt, unaware that Silas and Jasper could feel as he did, allowed the message of his mind to spill over into the golden aura at his fingertips and within moments it shifted in its paradigm emitting low pulses of light. Roger had his answer, and the others felt it as the Genesis star rapidly computed all relevant possibilities before moving Roger's hand into it and releasing a scoop of its dusted golden matter into his upturned palm.

Roger was certain of what was exactly meant by this, seeing as he opened his eyes and withdrew his hand that a self replicating strand of light and truth, and of so much more, was now his charge. All that remained to be done was to dope it into the blood of the dark star, a task he looked forward to with grim resolution.

There were a few obvious obstacles, such as how they would ever reach its surface without its consent, or if it might have known this as a possibility all along, but Roger stayed confident in his choice to rebel. He would not allow an entity so powerful as the dark star to withhold the natural course of his life from him or any of the other of the things that he held to be dear.

The three of them, though engaged in conflicts by their individual natures, felt abiding pleasure in knowing that it was time for them to go. It had been much less dramatic than any of them expected and the flesh of the Genesis star, which it had let go into Roger's care, melded with his hand leaving a tinge of amber churning beneath the surface of his skin. Holding onto it with his mind and flexing his hand as if he could somehow entrap the stuff in a tighter grip Roger descended to the base of the pyramid in the dark grass.

To them all the stars showed something of a giddier twinkle, partaking in their own way of the triumph the travelers had endured. Silas most of all was saddest to feel the arm of the Genesis star fade from reason, once again struggling to climb himself from the pit of despair the dark star had generated inside him. Roger's happiness knew no limit. He was one of the men now, something he had subconsciously desired since both Jasper and Silas had their own set of unique gifts, though he told himself he did not truly envy Silas. The inherent realization in him that he too could achieve a new tier of being aided by causes that came from the birth of the universe itself was enough to spark a smile that lasted for days and days.

Diminishing in the distance and darkness the dissipated hues of the Genesis star bade them all farewell on their journey back to home and country, and even though Roger's hatred for Jasper and what he'd done had not shrunk he was fully aware of the sense of warning that the golden star had given him, that hatred could undo his very person if he were tried more thoroughly.

Silence marked by meditation followed them as they entered the jungle and as they pushed on through the night retracing their steps under Silas' careful eye and Jasper's diligent memory.

Then came a time to rest.

They had all grown more careful and now posted a night watch which the three of them took shifts at taking. This strategy worked well for them even though they encountered nothing of danger or significance.

In the morning they woke and journeyed day by day by day until they came to the reeling dunes of the desert, now whipped up by wind. Continuing without conflict they marched along the border to the desert until the land to one side became forested, all the while Silas' and Jasper's superhuman reasoning guiding the way. In time they knew it was necessary to get off the path and reenter the forest and the lands of the mole people. Their worries were all in the air, but they breathed easy. Night was the time of greatest concern but between the watchmen and their new sense of direction nothing dared approach or stop them as they made full haste, arriving at the base of the mountain they had first used to cross into this world in shorter due than they had perceived.

Climbing the trail hungry and tired took time but they managed, concentrating on the act of walking more than talking. By now Roger had grown fully accustomed to the grievances of Jasper who seemed ever so much to want to be on Silas' good side, an unnerving situation that gradually wore him down, exhausting his steam. Tarrying on was his focus and instead of snapping, like he could almost see himself doing, he bore the load and in no time they stood in front of the gateway to their world.

It was still a sight of irresolvable curiosity, a hole hanging solidly in the air as if it were meant to be there or were a natural part of the landscape, hidden away waiting for the unwary traveler to turn his notion of reality topsy turvy.

"Well here we are, men. We all know what needs to be done. But how to do it?" Roger stated plainly, gazing admonished at his hand which contained the seed of the Genesis star.

Silas looked through the portal to the other side staring intently down the long dim corridor, smelling the blood of the slain dragon which had likely taken to rot by this time.

"I can fly." Silas words caught them off guard and out of position, Jasper most confused scratched his chin while Roger only grinned stupidly, pleased but unbelieving.

"How?" Jasper was ignorant of any mechanism of nature or knowledge that could lend itself to such a feat, and forthwith his jealousy was full poured into that one word.

"Don't question the man," interjected Roger, "question the motives. I think the thought you were after was 'Why?'. And in answer of the rhetorical the answer would be 'the dark star', proving only that we may still and again be at its mercy. Supposing your power is nothing other than a loan?"

"Supposing, supposing…" said Jasper sarcastically as he stepped on through the portal, waiting to be followed.

Roger came after and soon followed Silas, unwilling to question the thought that he might fail in finality, which he knew he would not.

"So what is it that you must actually accomplish, Roger?" asked Silas playing to be the optimist.

"A moment of sustained contact, as I see it, should instill the materia as it was intended, though the Genesis star was arbitrarily vague."

"Ah yes, I remember that now…" said Jasper.

Roger was only perplexed by him and said nothing but began to walk the length of the tunnel, abhorring the stink. With Silas and Roger on his heels they thought valiantly of scenarios and solutions, nothing more pertinent or potent than Silas hauling Roger up to the dark star, the idea that had taken root in all of their minds.

Living through the silence Silas decided not to complicate things, but still felt the need to voice the dastardly obvious.

"If it becomes impossible for me to take you there we can count on Jasper to use his considerable talent to at least once blast you up in the air using his magic. There is a great risk that you might not survive the fall as I sense that Jasper is not that skilled in these areas but I know that given the stakes he could at least one time get you to touch its surface. Let us dally no longer."

"Are you sure, Master Silas?" Jasper asked deceitfully.

"Don't plague him with your false sense of directive." said Roger plainly, though more to himself than Jasper. "Silas does not need you or the nothingness you are and have become."

Jasper breathed contemptuously, but silently, while Roger could only snort in response. In little time at all the three of them had made their way down the tunnel's full length and forgotten their ameliorations homing in instead on the marvelous sight of the massive corpse that once housed a solid evil. The dragon's body, the body of the beast, had taken to rot just as they might have suspected all along.

"Ha." stated Jasper deliberately, his forced humor causing all to lift a brow as Silas sped up out into the light to be rid of the stench.

Once fully bathed in the sunlight which was all encompassing, even as it was marred by fog, the trio stopped to gain their bearings and add stealth to their doings. As they all saw it, rather than march up to the dark star boldly, which in and of itself would take its own emotional toll on them, they would dart from rock to rock and glade to glade, letting their sense of greater purpose resolve the inevitable mental trauma that a head on assault would imply.

Silas worried. Supposing his potential might never allow itself to be used against the presence that had created it, against the dark star? He knew that he himself would not falter, but yet and still the sprout of all consuming evil had been grafted to his body, though denied by his soul and abhorred by his mind. No fear. Just misgivings.

Odd he thought, but surely for the better. In the minute they had taken to stop not a word had been spoken, and none needed to be, they saw what a defeat could mean. And what other opportunity would they have to match this one? Silas looked full heartedly at Jasper and did his best to read into him, for he was not all that complicated a man. Power was what he once sought, but know Silas could tell despite his arrogance that stress ran deep in him, probably from Silas' new state of being than from anything else. Jasper must sense his greater strength, he thought, his greater presence.

It was all of little concern as they snuck off toward the under belly of the dark star, until Roger whispered, quaking.

"This will never work!" his short burst of worry didn't slow either Jasper or Silas down, but it did raise concerns.

Running at near mach speeds now, from hidden point to point, the group stopped behind an exceptionally large ruins stone, leaning their backs against it, not but seventy-five yards from their intended strike point which they had determined through the non verbal parlaying of messages.

Silas looked Roger over. The golden glow around his hand pulsed stronger than ever and he could almost see invisible opalescent strings that seemed to connect the glow itself to the air before they dissipated. Roger's eyes were slightly bulged and wild looking. Silas and Jasper knew what was wrong at once. The dark star, they both thought to themselves silently, must be sensing its own demise, searching for the seed of light that would bring it to its condemnation, searching for the hand of Roger, the erstwhile king.

Silas tried to cheer Roger as the darkness everywhere but around them penetrated into him, gripping him. "What will never work?"

But it was too late. Feeling his mind crumble and his body slowly give way under the crushing pressure, almost as if he were slowly gaining weight, Roger amassed his soul for one final charge.

Everyone was caught off guard. Silas watched as the frightened feral looking man with the golden hand flung himself into full view of the awesome light of the dark star, feeling its rays excite his skin. Jasper watched mortified, strategically off balance and center, as Roger barreled step by step the length to their point of attack.

Rather than run after him the two, Roger and Jasper, stood their ground to better rationalize the situation, to see if it was possible to save him, or even if he needed saving. Maybe this was for the better, maybe it would work. Silas felt for the truth through his emotional clarity and dark powers while Jasper steeled himself to follow after Roger after the initial shock of his foolhardy rush wore off. If he himself could not get this done, ascend the crownless king to the dark star, than nothing could.

Time was up. Sword in hand Roger reached the medium he had sought for and stood directly beneath the glowing sphere of malice that consumed his entire sky and horizons. Silas shot forth like an arrow straight and true sprinting madly toward his friend. He could feel the gears of his mind shift as the vice overhead that recreated him contextualized and thought, considering the myriad and the possibilities. It must have sensed the hand of Roger for now a repressive current was growing around the place, dragging everything to the earth. Silas fought against it valiantly, keeping himself stable and in motion. In no time at all he had reached the glowing hand, outstretched toward the sky, and in even less time he had hauled the body, as it was folding, into his grasp and leapt, for Mary, for joy, for freedom. Hanging in the air at the apex, Roger aware but bug-eyed in his hold, he thought as was necessary and shot off upwards like a stone from a sling to the deep blue, except toward what could only be the end of things where once the sky might dwell.

If Silas was surprised he did little to show it. The pair closed the vertical distance within the span of a few seconds, both wondering what type of entity would allow powers it had bestowed to be used against its very existence. It was no matter though, as Jasper watched entranced, never having left his post behind the ruined stone. He looked on with dire intent as though the scope of his vision he witnessed a mad dash and a soaring flight, and there before his eyes, contact.

Silas felt it now, more than anything, there could be no way that he could close the last few yards to the surface of the dark star, its purple mass violent and aglow, the same twisted symbols churning on its belly. So he did what needed to be done and flung Roger, even as his bones screamed for mercy, at last and upwards. The force that had given him his powers now seized him, halting him dead in his tracks and even as he strained against his bonds he thought it no use to fight or to struggle, there could be no rising beyond this point.

Roger had not stopped though, he had carried through with the momentum that had brought him this far and struck his golden glowing fingers, scoring the dark flesh of evil overhead, sinking the totality of his hand deep inside its vaporous membrane by planting himself stiffly on the surface.

One second.

Then two.

Now three, and four, and five. It was all time enough for the might of the Genesis star to rapidly invade the body of foulness that had caused so much pain. Every one hung in place, Roger Jasper and Silas, hoping intently as golden shadow pulsated before reaching its creeping tendrils out and clawing its way through the dark star, infecting every square inch that it came into contact with.

It seemed as though it might take an eternity, but in little time at all the golden aura had spread to the entire under surface of the star and was now preparing to take fully half of its dark self away from its point of reason. Roger's hand still clung wistfully to what lay just at the zenith of his reach and he calmly grabbed at the dusty shadow stuff that the dark star began to transmute itself into. He pulled his hand away with a palm full of the quickly running powder, levitating in place.

Silas could feel the burden being lifted from his mind, though his powers did not fade. He focused on holding Roger in place through an act of magical exertion, making sure that he did not tumble and fall to the ground to crunch monstrously, a she had once done. Quite a triumph that would have been, thought Silas derisively.

Even though they did not touch one another Roger could feel Silas' mind holding him in place as the grains of dust that now totally comprised the dark star sifted through his fingers. A breeze kicked up as if from nowhere and pulled away the golden purple dark star's matter, spraying it in the wind. As Silas and Roger descended they both watched keenly as the new dark star lost its perfectly spherical shape to the rolling tide of air that peeled away at it layer by layer. The world around them was now filled with this mean substance. They thought at once that they might suffocate on it, that it would be hard to breathe, but miraculously, as they touched down, they were not inhibited.

The dark star was no more, just a grainy dusty scent on the grainy dusty breeze drifting lazily. At last they could deal with matters closer to heart.

Chapter Thirty-Five

"We still know your secret."

The victorious three had made their way across the miles of road and track and now were in the line of sight of Verlan. They had bickered and argued the whole of the way there, plying at Jasper who insisted that he come along as he had business to settle with the new sovereign, wanting to see for himself how the old man responded to life without the constant threat of the dark star. Through the muck and mire of his own misguided intentions Jasper still saw the clear possibility that unless he himself intervened in the Engarian government that for any of many reasons it might be turned against him, not that he felt so great a fear of that.

"Could it be I?" questioned Jasper in response to Roger's accusation. Words like those that had rung him since their first steps homeward. Roger kept a fawning hand on his golden edged sword, feeling it keenly as he spoke.

"You can't hide behind lies like those which you would have us believe forever. And whatever subtleties you hold over the mind will not benefit you against us."

Silas kept quiet but listened as Roger talked almost in distrustful jest, ruminating over the swiftness of his triumph over the once unseen foe that had grown in his mind but fell before his comrade's hands. Something was still out of place, something he could feel and know, see and touch. Something inside of him.

With the power he had gained from the dark star, none of which had faded since its defeat, he could not readily understand the emotions he sought to contain. With the great blight and curse of his power he felt more and more responsible for the lives of others. Even now he saw himself as the twisted conqueror of the crier, whom he might have saved had he thought but a little harder, worked towards a new edge. No one had to die, Silas told himself, and he felt that more than ever.

Perhaps that was merely his curse to bear. Or perhaps not, he thought, as he checked and felt himself, still sensing the ambient darkness in his bitter soul that had comprised his defeated foe.

Verlan was upon them in no time at all and as they entered it bustling corridors they all saw at once that many things were out of place. The life seemed drained from people as they moved about in silence, the clouds over head particularly dreary and verve more bland and demanding than anyone had ever seen it to be.

"What has become of this place?" Silas demanded, irked by his own problems which seemed to multiply.

Jasper chuckled. Roger ignored his rudeness and sought to answer his friend.

"There can be only one answer. The Praetor-"

"Sovereign, you mean." imbibed Jasper.

"The old dog," continued Roger, "must have set this place on its head. Knowing that it was not enough to have me killed he slandered my true nature, and even that wasn't enough. He took what should have been right and fare and set about to use it to suck the soul from people."

"Your true nature?" Jasper raised an eyebrow condescendingly.

"Exactly that." Roger spat back, be fore adding to reassure himself. "You know that once Engar is reestablished you will be put on trial for your many conspiracies and crimes."

"You are one to talk, eh Silas?" Jasper tried to get Silas in on the conversation but the man seemed lost in his own thoughts.

He had spent the minute thinking about his own true nature, mulling about his new and greater self. Life had not fully betrayed him, yet.

"I think," said Silas after time had passed and they had cooled off, "that if Jasper must be held accountable, who killed no man, than you also must be held accountable."

Roger's annoyance nearly caused him to explode. "But I was under duress! The foul star had hold of my mind! Its vines were unrelenting, you know me! Better than anyone! "

"We are only human, besides," said Silas, "there are greater issues for you afoot."

"What could be greater?"

"Only _your_ Sovereign. He must still be replaced with a suitable governor, someone of quality, some-"

"Someone like yourself?"

"No, I meant to say someone of the people."

Stalking through the city on horseback left little time to plan their next route, whatever it might have been. Having made all sorts of devious plots all the way home, some angry some humorous, some unforgivable, as to how they would deal with the new ruler of Engar they could barely decide for themselves now that they were here. All in all, Roger and Silas settled on going to Sonia's house to catch up on the times. Who knew what atrocities had taken place in their absence? Second to which she would be overjoyed to see them again which brought new love to Roger's lackluster life.

The road to her home was quick and forgiving with no amount of incongruities. Tethering their worn steeds to a post just outside her home Roger quickly and bravely, as he was frightened to see her after the fervor of adventure, rapped on the door.

There was no response.

Undaunted he rapped again.

Still no answer.

Knowing in his heart that nothing could truly be the matter Roger resigned himself to wait outside her home until she returned, and seeing nothing better to do Silas obliged himself to wait with him.

The hours rolled by and the sun sank into the horizon as Silas and Roger made good use of the time, laughing and lifting spirits as well as considering the possibilities of overthrowing the Sovereign. Silas proved before them that his unholy powers still held true, creating a tornado of dust in the road that he spun round and guided about with his hands and mind, having good fun.

And then she came to them, in the shallow glow of twilight. Roger's heart leapt up through his chest when he at once realized who it was, rushing to greet her. As he bore down on her he noticed something terribly wrong. Her clothes were torn and tattered, and far from resembling anything that a decent person would wear seemed much more like burlap and twine knitted only for the purpose of covering the body with no thought of comfort in mind.

Barefoot, Sonia noticed Roger and sped up as if to run, but was noticeably too weak to maintain the pace. The two nearly collided as Roger captured her in his embrace.

"Sonia!" he cried loudly.

Her face was tired and grime stained, she hadn't bathed in days, but still, despite the malodor he hugged her.

"What has happened to you?" he asked quietly.

"The resistance…" she spluttered. "It was… I was captured."

"What?"

"They held me in prison for ten days, barely feeding me."

"Who? Why?"

"The Sovereign's new guard. We all new at once that something was wrong, that our new leader could not be trusted, or at least most of us did. But there were still those who worked for him, for gold."

"And they turned on you?"

Silas by now had caught up with the two of them in the road and had noticed Sonia's condition. Without a thought he touched his hand to her arm which soon began to glow, giving here a temporary new strength. Feeling healthier and more adept she whispered her thank you before looking Roger in the eyes. She had been too tired to take notice of Silas' strange ability but now she seemed confused.

"How did you…?"

"There was a tragedy, and in the confusion I gained these weird devices. This power is a frightful thing."

"The story of my life." said Sonia with glib sarcasm.

"So how did you escape?" asked Silas pointedly.

"There was no escape, the prison was overfilling and they deemed that I had served my time dutifully. They cut me loose into the streets no that long ago."

"They didn't do anything to you did they?" asked Roger seething.

"No, but I now wear the terrible emotional chains of a once prisoner. Now at least I know that not everyone can be trusted. At least you'll never know the wretched soul wrenching feeling of betrayal."

"We know it all to well." said Roger, glowing hot with anger. "I am going to finish this."

Taking his sword in hand he made as if to run down the road, and had it not been for Silas who caught hold of his sleeve, he likely would have met his end fighting his way into the palace.

"Don't. This is no longer your conflict, it is now the people's conflict."

Though he was bubbling with unrelenting malevolence he consented and stayed by his friend's sides. The years of trauma on his mind still echoed deep within.

"Besides," said Sonia, "I could never risk loosing you. You would be out numbered and overpowered."

"Not with Silas at my side. Tell her of the mole king."

Silas chuckled sternly. "Not at this hour. I think it best if we rest tonight and rally every one who has a will to fight tomorrow for a magnificent last stand. There is no measure to what we will do for freedom."

The sky had become totally dim, like the blackest ink, save for the brilliance of innumerable stars and Silas, as he looked up, was reminded of a night once long ago.

"I know what I fight for." he said, marching back to the house.

Sonia and Roger stood alone in the road, face to face, looking each other over.

"Why is it that my people never formed a resistance against me?"

Turning and walking back to the house she paused.

"Because you never demanded so much of us, lied so frivolously, or stabbed so deeply at our hearts. He is trying to put us to labor at building a cathedral in his honor! A wonder of the world, he called it."

"Not even I, in my delirium, was ever so draught from gainful errs. Besides, he heard first from me that such a wonder should be built."

But she was not listening and had already gone into the house. Hearing into the night and its chirping respite he followed soon after.

The world was in full darkness and they retired to their beds, sleeping soundly, though Silas searched through his body, looking for something, feeling a force unlike anything that he knew, growing in him. Mulling over the things that had been said he could only hope that life would once again return to normal. Or had his true nature and that of everyone else he could have known been compromised by what he had so readily feared? Best to rest he thought before he at last assumed the fullness of sleep.

Standing over the table in the house in the early morning, less than one hour after the sun had risen, the lot of them, Silas, Sonia, and Roger, plotted a swift and eternal revenge.

"But how many _can_ you rally?" Silas asked, wanting all the spare force he could muster.

"Are you sure it will work?" was her response. "Or are you just endangering lives in a plot that requires only one single man."

"I agree with Silas." said Roger coolly. "And though I still am reluctant to say it, it is their right to take part in this, and they will only be involved if they choose to. Besides, with your awesome display of power in whatever dimension you have planned, how could they fear failure?"

"The day is slowly passing, even if it is still morning, I should contact everyone I can in the resistance and draw everyone to the town center, where we must all decide. I doubt that any of them will believe my message, that men of your potential exist among us and for us, but it should draw the most curious few."

"So be it, then." said Silas with finality to Sonia, whose eyes sparkled with delight.

Without a moment wasted she darted out the door with Silas and Roger sprinting in her wake down the road and into the city, the smiling center point of all their madness. Within minutes she was knocking on doors, trying to catch up with members of her resistance before they made way for whatever the day had in store for them. She looked much better now that she was wearing her normal attire again.

"Pass this along." she said to the first door that opened. "Meeting today just after noon at the city center. Today we unite behind a man who has been given spiritual gifts. He will show a full demonstration. Be prepared to take our nation back!"

And this she reported to every door where it opened and she met the glib faces of her fellow resistance members. In no time at all the morning had slowly started and everyone she knew to tell had been warned to be present.

Exhausted, they split up and marched around the city, looking for anyone they felt might be swayed to their reason. By midmorning everyone who needed to know knew. Some scoffed, others laughed, but a precious few accepted the thought and humbly promised an appearance, just to experience the chaos if anything else. Regrouping after much time of this they met at the city square, with less than a few hours before it was time to rebel and claim their greater city.

Silas wasn't at all nervous, but growing in him at all times was a constant doubt, moroseness that he was ill prepared to explain. What was it? What nagged and gnawed at him? Could it be? Had the dark star somehow survived? Maybe it staged its own death, surely it was clever enough for that. But no, he knew better than to believe those thoughts. It was long gone and he could smell beautiful freedom. Though his life was now without love he had a thousand other things to satisfy him, and he would never surrender his homeland to the fear and deception that he had already witnessed. Not while there was blood in his veins or breath in his lungs; he too would resist.

A small crowd had gathered, huddled neatly in the shade of a tree, its branches rustling. They looked on at the man whose face seemed afire hovering two feet above the ground and they gasped. There were rapturous cheers and challenges to greater magic, but most simply watched in muted amazement. No one could claim to have seen anything like this in the entirety of their lives, with the exception of Roger, who shouted and jeered at the developing mass of people who stopped to see for themselves after one glance at the astounding Silas.

Sonia and Roger called out to them.

"United Democracy of Engar, you have suffered too long! Here, see this man. His power is beyond reckoning and for those who intend to resist now is the time to unify and strike! Watch!"

As the crowd heard that, and more people arrived to view the spectacle, Silas' hand began to glow with a fierce strange light that won more guffaws from the crowd, from the growing resistance.

"Some of you may know of me, some of you may have heard lies." Roger yelled airily to the crowd. "I was your king, once, not all that long ago, and I survived an assassination attempt by your now Sovereign Henry! Maybe he is confused, maybe his head is mounted to tight to his body, but whatever the reason, he is a monster!"

The crowd of men and women grew louder and more animated as they claimed more ears and eyes, talking about how this could be. Some had heard the news from Sonia, others believed him dead, but for the most part no one knew his face any better than anyone else. But they were willing to accept this as true, seeing the miraculous demonstrations that Silas performed.

After more time had past, the sun winding through the sky, grass and trees growing gloriously bit by bit, it seemed the crowd had come to its own climax.

"What are we to do?" came cries from the crowd.

"How can we win? Does this magic man fight for us?"

"To arms!" shouted Roger and Silas. "To arms!"

No sooner was it said than done. The mass, now more than a thousand strong, seized hold of whatever they could carry, shovels, pitchforks, stones, and rocks. Marching behind Silas, Roger who wielded his sword, and Sonia, who all glowed with a solid inner light cast by the people's unquestionable liberator, the floating man, everyone shouted and cheered, converging on the palace.

Arms and voices were raised, hopes were high and troubles and opposition seemed lost. Nothing could prevent them from reclaiming their lands, and they new it better than anyone.

The first guardsmen to cross them were swarmed, if they were lucky enough to avoid Silas' glow, which he used to deftly neutralize them, rendering them unconscious. No one was killed as no one saw the greater need. Sanity was priceless in this situation and they all knew it.

Silas felt the rush run through him as he blasted open the main palace gates which had been immediately locked once the revolutionaries had been spotted in an effort to form the guardsmen up to quash the liberators. True, the city folk were at a material disadvantage, lacking anything but the most crude weapons, but as the splinters from the gate and planks of wood flew through the air, showering the immaculate palace grounds, the Sovereign's military new that something was going to go terribly wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Six

In one exhilarating moment they had all crossed in. None of them had seen the inner palace before and they remained stunned by its beauty, even as Silas tackled seven fully clad and armed soldiers, blasting left and right, hovering to scare the impressionable. The throng warred as rocks flew and hammers struck at helmets, shovels swinging wildly.

The battle for the gate came as a swift victory for the rebels, intent on winning back all they had lost in a gamble they had called an election. Without pausing to reform or to check any casualties, of which there were none thanks to Silas watchful eye, the attackers burst through the rest of the palace like a tidal wave striking shore and seized control over their new territory room by room. They demanded in harsh tones the immediate surrender of all who were armed, and those who saw anything of Silas, brilliant and deadly, instantly agreed.

Finding target number one, for Roger, Sonia, and Silas, had been as easy as they had expected. He was in the palatial bath house, with its gleaming tiled floor and warm pool, wearing a luxurious loincloth while soaking. It had been Roger who had first found him, and he stood ready to kill with the bright gold gleaming edge of his sword, after Sonia's imprisonment, and with nothing other than insurrection on his mind he made plans to do so.

Silas caught up with him after wrestling two massive guards to submission and made sure of himself that he would not allow his friend to take life in unjust anger, as once had nearly happened to him.

The Sovereign's fat back was facing the intruders and he turned his head slightly, popping a grape into his mouth from a golden platter. Without seeing who it was, his body nestled firmly in the waist deep pool, Henry spoke.

"Wendell, is that you?"

"You mean your guard?" asked Roger slowly, menacingly to his once advisor's back.

The water rippled and spoke music to Roger's ear as the Sovereign turned to face the dead voice from the past.

"It can't be!" Henry shouted silently, his face caught in a twist of cathartic shock.

"You seem almost happy to see me." Roger's shoulders were taut and he flexed the hilt of the sword in his hands. Silas moved in close behind Roger while Sonia only bit her lip, fearing the worst.

"But… you were dead! I knew it! I knew it! Well perhaps then this is my second chance."

Roger took to steps closer to the rim of the in ground pool, smiling subversively.

"What could you mean by that?"

"Only that I have taken the time to think in recent days. About how wrong I was and have been, to you, least of all, whom I thought dead."

Roger moved right up to the edge of the pool as Henry backed away, wading in the water.

"How could you? It was one thing to try to kill me, perhaps I am able to overlook that, but for you to imprison those who are without blame. You are mad."

"I was mad I admit it."

"You lie."

"I lie I admit it."

"You must pay."

"I must -"

Roger raised the sword over his head and made as if to strike down on the cowering old man, who had deceived him so, and swung his hands to strike him dead.

Silas waited no longer to act. Locking the sword in the air with his mind he held it firmly in place as Roger, mortified, moved his emptiness gripping hands downward, wielding nothing but air. Henry, grateful to be alive, sobbed and chuckled, fighting to find his hold over himself in these times of revolution.

"Don't you see?" asked Silas to Roger. "His mind was just as incensed as anyone else's. You cannot hold him fully accountable. He was on the one hand a madman, but on the other was the seed of truth to his thoughts. No doubt he fought hard in his mind, but know only and at least that he was corrupted by force beyond his measure. He is still man, and thusly subject to our nature. Trust me if not his broken shell."

Roger was politely stunned, incapable of seeing why he himself had felt it necessary to take life in the first place. His heart sunk deep into his chest as his shoulder bowed and he looked down at his own upturned palms. Every one watched him intently.

"I see… I see it now. We are all of us irreparably changed. My old friend the Praetor, his mind dead and gone. My good friend Silas, made always the unwilling accomplice, his soul forever touched. Myself, forever wanting to befoul my own hands with death. I even see traces of it in Jasper, now that I recant. How could we all have been so without sight? So selfish? Even as we struggled the lines in our minds only deepened, pulling us from truth. There is little joy in victory, in this victory. The past is forever set."

"Still though, we must remove this tyrant, the Sovereign." said Silas, trying to sound cheerful and on point.

"And what would you recommend?" asked Sonia, struggling for answers.

"No worse than was done to me."

Silas thought a thought and the Sovereign's head bobbed before falling to his chest, drummed in the profundities of sleep.

"Take him and bring him, we are still the champions of the people." Silas said authoritatively.

Roger and Sonia stepped down into the pool messing the smooth surface of the water and grabbed hold of Henry, the dormant ruler, and lugged his heavy body out of the pool's edge and onto the tiled floor. The two of them, following in Silas' deliberate footsteps, hoisted the man onto their shoulders by his own limp shoulders and marched dutifully. They hit the open sunlight of a courtyard and Silas enhanced voice rang out.

"We have him! We people have the Sovereign! Alive!"

Everyone heard and came rushing within minutes to that very courtyard, filling it to its tipping point, some frightened, others joyful, and others nursing injuries. The guardsmen left standing to witness the scene were warped by totality, unable to determine north from south as they gazed upon Silas in his captivating aura. The thousand or so city folk were all present and gibbering amongst themselves, rejoicing at final triumph.

"What shall we do with him?" some questioned.

"Finish this!" others yelled.

But in the end it was Silas who decided.

"Take him now, like this, to the furthest reaches of Engar and leave him for himself to find. We have no further use for him here. Do not injure or harm him, in this new world, his rights are our rights. "

The three reluctant heroes surrendered him to the crowd without a second thought and gazed on as mass prepared to do as they were bidden.

Silas stood in full power wishing and wondering, all at what the future would hold. As Roger and Sonia hugged a tear rolled down his face. With his arms crossed at his chest he knew now what had struck at him with so much subtlety these last few days; the lasting tasteless trick. While the dark star had died, or at the very least allowed itself to perish, there could be no doubt in his mind that now it lived on through him and in him. He had been its unwitting heir, and for its dark power to truly pass he must find a way from within to relinquish it, to let it fade. While its rising had been thwarted its day still loomed high on his horizons.


End file.
